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THE 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 



OF 



THOMAS HOOD 



CONTAINING LAMIA, THE EPPING HUNT, ODES AND ADDRESSES, 

AND POEMS OF SENTIMENT, WIT, AND HUMOR, 

WITH NOTES. 



EDITED BT 

EPES SARQENT, 



K 



BOSTON: 
PUBLISHED BY PHILLIPS, SAMPSON & CO. 



MDCCCLVni. 









Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1857, by 

EPES SARGENT, 

In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts. 



RtECTKOTYPED BY 

T B, Smith A Son, 
82 & 84 Beekman-st., N. Y. 



ADVERTISEMENT. 

In iffuing this volume, we take the hberty to requeft from 
the common courtefy of publifhers that, if they make ufe of the 
refult of our editorial dihgence, they will acknowledge the fource 
to which they are indebted. It is not often that we find it nec- 
eiTary to make this appeal to the conlideration of the trade. 
But as the fecond volume of our edition of Hood was made the 
fubject of a wholefale appropriation, we have thought it not 
amifs to throw out this fuggeilion, to prevent the third from 
fharing a limilar fate. 

No fooner had our fecond volume made its appearance, than 
it was reprinted by a refpectable publifhing houfe, in two volumes 
of a feries, for which they claim the credit of able and careful 
editorial fupervifion. Not only were the poems taken — to which, 
of courfe, we could aflert no copyright — but the notes were alfo 
extracted, without fo much as by your leave, or even the grace 
of acknowledgment. In the notes we had made fome extracts 
from the " London Magazine," among which were two poems 
that we felected as the probable first-thoughts, afterward expanded 
into more confiderable ejffufions among the " Odes and Addrefles." 
Thefe were copied with the reft of the book ; though obvioufly 
protected by the copyright of courtefy, if not of the law. To 
add to the coolnefs of the proceeding, the two volumes were 4uly 



yi ADVEETISEMENT. 

copyrighted in the name of the appropriating firm ; though the 
only copyright matter in them was extracted from our edition. 
The feries was then widely advertifed as the moft complete 
collection of Hood's Poems ever publilhed. This was a little 
too much. 

As we had been at fome trouble and expenfe in collecting the 
contents of the volume, we were inclined to call upon thefe pub- 
lilhers to pay a copyright for the ufe of our materials. Some 
correfpondence took place on the fubject, the end of which was 
that the publilhers difavowed any intention of improper appro- 
priation, and it was intimated to them that, as the burden 
would probably fall upon their editor, we were not difpofed to 
exact any copyright for the purloined notes, provided they would 
cancel the plates, and not multiply the copies. This arrangement 
we underftood to have been acquiefced in. To our furprife, 
however, as foon as they were relieved from the fear of a profe- 
cution, they again reprinted the contents of our fecond volume 
in a fmall blue and gold edition, retaining the poems and extracts 
in the notes, in which it was fuppofed we could maintain no tech- 
nical copyright, and fo changing the language of the notes as to 
evade the refponfibility of the " conveyance." 

We fhould add, in juftice to the profeflbr whofe name is often- 
tatioufly paraded in advertifements and puffs, as the editor of the 
feries in queftion, that we were promptly informed that he was 
not to blame for the occurrence, becaufe he had never feen the 
work in queftion, though it is one of the few of the feries that 
affume to be the fubject of copyright, and might be fuppofed to 
pafs under his editorial fupervifion. This did not furprife us. 



ADVERTISEMENT. vii 

We had examined Ibme of the volumes of the uniform feries, and 
knew how idle was the pretence that they had been carefully 
and ably edited by the refpectable gentleman whofe name has 
been connected with them. 

In this connection we may as well difpofe of another matter. 
In the collection of Campbell's Poems which we publilhed a 
few years hnce, there appeared a number of his pieces which 
were not inferted in the London editions. The publifhers of 
the uniform feries were more confiderate of editorial right at 
that time than they have fince become, and inllead of conveying 
our additions into their volume, they contented themfelves with 
a gentle fling in their preface, to the effect that they did not think 
it worth while to infert in their edition poems that the author 
had deliberately rejected. 

It happened that among thefe were two or three of the pret- 
tieft things that admirable poet ever wrote. The pubhfliers dif- 
covered their miftake, and when they came to put their Camp- 
bell into blue and gold, they not only availed themfelves of our 
labors, which they were perfectly fafe in doing, but ventured 
upon a little editing of their own. They then advertife that 
theirs is the mofl: complete edition of Campbell ever publifhed, 
and that it contains " fixty-feven poems not in the beft Englifli 
editions." Some fifty of thefe poems are copied from our edi- 
tion, in which they were brought together from various fources 
for the first time. The refidue are fragmentary f fForts of Camp- 
bell's childhood, and poems of at leaft doubtful authenticity — 
one being a complimentary charade on the poet's name, written 
by Praed, and another, a political jeu d'efprit, written by Moore ! 



yiU ADVERTISEMENT. 

For thefe additions, the enterpriUng publifhers are certainly 
entitled to a copyright. No other edition contains them. 

If the publifhers to whom we refer make any further invalion 
of editorial rights, we fhall feel obliged to go into this matter 
a little more fully, in order to determine the nature and extent 
of the protection which the law gives to literary compilations. 



PREFACE. 

To American readers the contents of the present vol- 
ume will be as fresh as if they were now first published 
from original manuscripts. With the exception of three 
or four of the smaller pieces, they have never been re- 
printed in this country. They supply all that was wanting 
in our two former volumes, to make the series the only 
complete collection of the Poetical Works of Thomas 
Hood. To all other editions of the author, this volume 
will form an indispensable supplement. The rank which 
is now assigned to him in literature, among the most re- 
markable humorists who have written in any language, 
gives interest to all the productions of his pen ; and induces 
us to believe that, from the novelty and variety of its con- 
tents, the present volume cannot fail to be as acceptable 
as any of its predecessors. 

True it is that many of Hood's poems were on topics of 
casual and temporary interest, composed hastily to fill the 
pages of a magazine, or annual, in reply to the inexorable 
call for copy. But they all bear the impress of his pecu- 
liar powers, his effervescing fancy, his sparkling wit, his 
inimitable humor, his unvarying benevolence and kindness 
of heart, his hatred of hypocrisy and cant. The longest 



X PREFACE. 

of the poems contained in the present volume is in the 
dramatic form, and upon a subject ^hich also employed 
the pen of Keats. It gives us a new phase of Hood's 
various and many-colored genius. In the Eppijig Hunt^ 
we have a story, in the metre of John Gilpin^ which does 
not require the aid of the original cuts to make its humor 
intelligible. The new collection of Odes and Addresses 
is worthy the authors of the clever volume which was such 
a favorite with Coleridge. Of these, the Remonstratorif 
Ode from the Elephant is ascribed by Mrs. Mathews, 
in the entertaining memoirs of her husband, to John 
Hamilton Reynolds, the brother-in-law of Hood, and 
his associate in the production of the Odes and Addresses. 
Some account of this very clever writer will be found in a 
note at the end of the volume. 

The poems which fall under the head of Miscellaneous, 
have been drawn from a variety of sources, but they are 
all authenticated beyond question as the productions of 
Hood. We have not admitted a doubtful poem. Many 
of them have been taken from the Comic Annual ; others 
from the gilt-edged and green-covered volumes that were 
so common at Christmas time and New Year's, five-and- 
twenty years ago. To these HooD was a liberal contributor 
before the commencement of his own annual publication. 
We have also been indebted to the London Magazine, 
and to the columns of the Literary Gazette and London 
Athencenm — to all of which, periodicals HooD was a some- 
time contributor — for poems that have hitherto escaped the 
diligence of his editors. 



PREFACE. xi 

While thus gleaning from the fields of ephemeral letters 
the scattered sheaves of genius, we have run our eye over 
many pages of contemporaneous criticism, sometimes gentle 
and generous, but not unfrequentlj conceived in a harsh 
and unindulgent temper. Many persons were disposed to 
treat Hood as a mere punster and witling. The very fer- 
tility of his genius was a drawback on his reputation. 
That he should throw off his effusions with such marvellous 
readiness, and with so little apparent effort, diminished their 
value with critics, who never seemed to reflect that what 
Hood could do so easily no other man could do at all. In 
the host of wits and humorists, who gave such brilliancy, 
during Hood's career, to the periodical literature of Eng- 
land, there was no one who could compete with him, or 
imitate him in the style of writing which he had made so 
truly his own. Writers there were, who were rich in con- 
ceits and fluent in versification, and who could play readily 
with words ; but there was an inexpressible and original 
something that Hood infused into his most trivial pleas- 
antries, in which none of his cleverest contemporaries 
rivalled or resembled him. In this peculiar vein he still 
remains not only unsurpassed but unequalled. 



CONTENTS. 



Pago 
LAMIA: A EOMANCE, ...,.,,' IT 

THE EPPING HUNT, , , . . , 73 

POEMS OF SENTIMENT, 

Guido and Marina ; a Dramatic Sketch, ' ,,.,... £5 

Farewell to the Swallows, 100 

Stanzas to Tom "Woodgate of Hastings, 102 

MOEE ODES AND ADDEESSES TO GREAT PEOPLE. 

To N. A. Vigors, Esq., on the publication of " The Gardens and Menagerie 

of the Zoological Society," 109 

To Joseph Hume, Esq., M. P., 113 

To Spencer Perceval, Esq., M. P., , , 116 

To Admiral Gambler, G. 0. B., , 117 

To Sir Andrew Agnew, Bart,, 120 

To J. S. Buckingham, Esq., M. P., on the Report of the Committee on 
Drunkenness, , 124 

To Messrs, Green, HoUond, and Monck Mason, on their late Balloon Expe- 
dition, 137 

Eemonstratory Ode, from the Elephant, at Exeter 'Change, to Mr. Matthews, 

at the English Opera House, 141 

Address to Mr. Cross, of Exeter 'Change, on the death of the Elephant, . . 146 
To the late Lord Mayor, on the publication of his "Visit to Oxford," . . .150 
Ode to George Colman the Younger, Deputy Licenser of Plays, . .... 155 
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

Domestic Asides : or Truth in Parentheses, 161 

Town and Country, 162 

Lament for the Decline of Chivalry, 165 

The Green Man, Igg 

All around my Hat— a new Version, .„,..,,,,, 174 



XIV CONTENTS. 

Page 
Laying down the Law, . . ijg 

Sonnet, 180 

On the Portrait of a Lady, 180 

Party Spirit, 180 

Art of Book-Keeping, 18i 

Dog Days, .183 

"Boxiana," 185 

On a Eoyal Demise, 185 

A Happy New Year, 187 

A Bull, 190 

A Charity Sermon, 191 

Sonnet, igg 

The Cigar, 194 

Backing the Favorite, igg 

The Pursuit of Letters, I97 

The United Family, 198 

Epigram, 203 

The Volunteer, 204 

The Fall of the Deer, (from an old M.S.), 207 

A Else at the Father of Angling, . .209 

" Napoleon's Midnight Eeview," — new Version, 214 

Poetry, Prose, and Worse, 216 

The Forlorn Shepherd's Complaint, an unpublished Poem from Sydney, , . 222 

Clubs, turned up by a Female Hand, 225 

Lord Durham's Eeturn, 228 

The Assistant Drapers' Petition, 230 

Eural Felicity 233 

Stanzas, composed in a Shower Bath, "^^ 

A New Song from the Polish, ^^^ 

Hit or Miss, 246 

A Flying Visit, .:....... ^^^ 

The Doctor, a Sketch, ^^'^ 

Mary's Ghost a Pathetic Ballad, ^^^ 

Tim Turpin, a Pathetic Ballad, ^'^^ 

The Vision, ^^^ 

The Blue Boar, ^77 

Jack Hall, 285 

John Trot, a Ballad, 294 

Drinking Song, by a member of a Temperance Society, as sung by Mr. 

Spring, at Waterman's Hall, 297 

SuETgestions by Steam, , 299 

' Death in the Kitchen, SOO 



CONTENTS. XV 

Page 

The Dead Eobbery, 303 

Agricultural Distress, a Pastoral Report, 309 

John Jones, a Patlietic Ballad, 315 

A Bunch of Eorget-JMe-Nots, 3I7 

Ode to Miss Kelly on her opening the Strand Theatre, 319 

Answer to Pauper, 321 

Miss Panny's Farewell Flowers, 322 

On a Picture of Hero and Leander, ....», 324 

Incendiary Song, 325 

A Eeflection, 327 

Ben Bluff, a Pathetic Ballad, .328 

A Public Dinner, 331 

A Drop of Gin, 336 

"UptheEhine," 339 

Joseph's Lament, 840 

The Pleasures of a Pic-Nic Party, 342 

"WAIFS AND ESTEATS. 

The Little Pigs ■ 347 

The Sailor's Consolation, 349 

NOTES,. . . 350 



LAMIA. 



advertiseme:n"t. 



The romance of Lamia has never hitherto been inserted in any 
edition of the author's works. It was originally published in 1852, 
in the appendix to the first volume of the Autobiography of William 
Jerdan, and is thus alluded to in the text. " I have a matter, as I 
venture to presume, of peculiar interest to relate, and which I cannot 
conveniently weave into my narrative, so near the close of the volume; 
I shall therefore, at the latest hour, beg for an allowance of time and 
credit till my next tome appears, for their revelation. Mr. Canning's 
Lisbon mission will then also demand t[\y illustration ; and, in the 
meanwhile, not inconsistently with the literary and miscellaneous 
character of my autobiography, I offer as a reward for granting me 
this boon, and to enrich these concluding pages with a production 
that cannot fail to charm every reader of taste and intelligence where 
the English tongue is spoken, an unpublished work of my late 
lamented friend, Thomas Hood, whose memory will stand on a higher 
pinnacle with posterity for his serious and pathetic writings than 
even for those quaint and facetious performances by which he con- 
tributed so largely to the harmless mirth of his age, and in which he 
was unrivalled." - 



DRAMATIS PERSONS. 



young wild gallants of Corinth. 



Apollonius, a philosopher, a sophist, tutor to Ltcius. 
Ltcius, a young man of nolle birth, pupil to Apollonius. 
Mercutius, "] 
Curio, 
Gallo, and 

others, 

Julius, brother to Lycius. 
DoMus (pro tempore), butler to Lamia. 
Picus (pro tempore), steward to Lamia. 

Lamia, an Enchantress, by nature a Serpent, but now under the 
disguise of a beautiful woman. 



The scene is in or near Corinth. 



LAM lA ; 

A ROMANCE 



A mossy Bank with Trees^ on the high Road near Corinth, 

Enter Lamia. 
LAMIA. 

Here I'll sit down and watch ; till his dear foot 
Pronounce him to my ear. That eager hope 
Hath won me from the brook before I viewed 
My unacquainted self — But yet it seemed 
A most rare change — and methinks the change 
Has left the old fascination in my eyes. 
Look, here's a shadow of the shape I am — 

A dainty shadow ! ^^he sits down on the lank. 

How fair the world seems now myself am fair ! 

These dewy daffodils ! these sweet green trees ! 

I've coiled about their roots — but now I pluck 

Their drooping branches with this perfect hand ! 

Sure those were Dryades 

That with such glancing looks peeped through the green 

To gaze upon my beauty. VL\ctub enters and passes oii without noting Tier. 

Lycius ! sweet Lycius ! — what, so cruel still ! 
What have I done thou ne'er wilt deign a look, 
But pass me like a worm ? 



22 LAMIA. 

LYCIUS. 
Ha ! who art thou ? iLooUng lack. 

goddess, (for there is no mortal tint, 
No line about thee lower than divine,) 

What may that music mean, thy tuneful tongue 
Hath sent in chase of me ? — I slight ! I scorn thee I 
Bj all the light of day, till this kind hour 

1 never saw that face ! — nor one as fair. 

LAMIA. 

fie, fie, fie ! — what, have you never met 

That face at Corinth ? — -turned too oft towards you, 
Like the poor maidens that adored Apollo : — 
You must have marked it ! — 

LYCIUS. 

Nay, then hear me swear ! 
By all Olympus and its starry thrones — 
My eyes have never chanced so sweet a sight, 
Not in my summer dreams ! 

LAMIA. 

Enough, enough ! — why then I've watched in vain — 
Tracked all your ways, and followed like your shadow ; 
Hung you with blessings — haunted you with love — 
And waited on your aspect — all in vain! — 

1 might as well have spent my loving looks. 
Like Ariadne, on the sullen sea. 

And hoped for a reflection. Youth, farewell. 

LYCIUS. 

not yet^not yet farewell ! 
Let such an unmatched vision still shine on. 
Till I have set an impress in my heart 
To cope with life's decay ! 



LAMIA. 23 

LAMIA. 

You say but well. 
I must soon hie me to my elements ; 
But take your pleasure at my looks till then. 

LYCIUS. 

You are not of this earth, then ? isadiy. 

LAMIA. 

Of this earth ? 
Why not ? And of this same and pleasant isle. 
My world is yours, and I would have no other. 
One earth, one sea, one sky, in one horizon, 
Our room is wide enough, unless you hate me. 

LYCIUS. 
Hate you ! 

LAMIA. 

Then you may wish to set the stars between us, 
The dim and utter lamps of east and west. 
So far you'd have me from you. 

LYCIUS. 

Cruel Syren ! 
To set your music to such killing speech. 
Look if my eyes turn from you — if my brows, 
Or any hinting feature, show dislike. 
Nay, hear my lips — 

LAMIA. 

If they will promise love 
Or talk of it ; but chide, and you will kill me ! 

LYCIUS. 

Then, love, speak forth a promise for thyself, 
And all heaven's witnesses be by to hear thee. — 



24 LAMIA. 

LAMIA. 

Hold, hold ! I'm satisfied. You'll love me, then? 

LYCIUS. 

With boundless, endless love. 

LAMIA. 

Ay, give me much on't — for jou owe me much, 

If you knew all. 

I've licked the very dust whereon you tread — 

LYCIUS. 

It is not true ! 

LAMIA. 

I'll swear it, if you will. Jove heard the words, 
And knows they are sadly true. 

LYCIUS. 

And this for me ! 

LAMIA. 

Ay, sweet, and more. A poor, fond wretch, I filled 

The flowers with my tears ; and lay supine 

In coverts wild and rank — fens, horrid, desolate ! 

'T would shock your very soul if you could see 

How this poor figure once was marred and vilified, 

How grovelled and debased ; contemned and hated 

By my own self, because, with all its charms, 

It then could hope no favor in your eyes ; 

And so I hid it. 

With toads and newts, and hideous shiny things, 

Under old ruins, in vile solitudes. 

Making their haunts my own. 

LYCIUS. 

'Tis strange and piteous. — Why, then, you maddened? 



....^. 25 

LAMIA. 

I was not quite myself — y^iot what I am) — 
Yet something of the woman Ktayed within me, 
To weep she was not dead. 

LYCIUS. 

Is this no fable ? 

LAMIA. 

most distrustful Ljcius ! Hear me call 

On Heaven, anew, for vouchers to these facts. [it thunders. 
There ! Could' st thou question that ? Sweet skies I thank ye ! 
Now, Ljciiis, doubt me if you may or can ; 
And leave me if you will. I can but turn 
The wretched creature that I was, again, 
Crushed by our equal hate. Once more, farewell. 

LYCIUS. 

Farewell, but not till death. gentlest, dearest, 
Forgive my doubts. I have but paused till now 
To ask if so much bliss could be no dream. 

Now I am sure 

Thus I embrace it with my whole glad heart 
For ever and for ever ; I could weep. 
Thy tale hath shown me such a matchless love, 
It makes the elder chronicles grow dim. 

I always thought 

1 wandered all uncared for on my way, 
Betide me good or ill — nor caused more tears 
Than hung upon my sword. Yet I was hung 

Yfith dews, rich pearly dews — shed from such spheres 
As sprinkle them in amber. Thanks, bounteous stars. 
Henceforth you shall but rain your beams upon me 
To bless my brightened days. 

2 



26 LAMIA. 

LAMIA. 

sweet ! sweet ! sweet ! 
To hear you parley thus and gaze upon you ! 
Lycius, dear Lycius ! 

But tell me, dearest, will you never — never 
Think lightly of myself, nor scorn a love 
Too frankly set before you ! because 'twas given 
Unasked, though you should never give again : 
Because it was a gift and not a purchase — 
A boon, and not a debt ; not love for love, 
Where one half's due for gratitude. 

LYCIUS. 

Thrice gracious seems thy gift ! 

LAMIA. 

Oh, no ! Oh, no ! 
I should have made you wait, and beg, and kneel, 
And swear as though I could but half believe you ; 
I have not even stayed to prove your patience 
By crosses and feigned slights — given you no time 
For any bribing gifts or costly shows. 
I know you will despise me. 

LYCIUS. 

Never, never. 
So long as I have sight within these balls, 
Which only now I've learned to thank the gods for. 

LAMIA. 

'Tis prettily sworn ; and frankly I'll believe you ! 
Now shall we on our way ? I have a house 
(Till now no home) within the walls of Corinth : 
Will you not master it as well as me ? 



LAMIA. 27 

LYCIUS. 

My home is in your heart ; but where you dwell, 

There is my dwelling-place. But let me bear you, sweet ! 

LAMIA. 

No, I can walk, if you will charm the way 
With such discourse ; it makes my heart so light, 
I seem to have wings within ] or, if I tire, 
I'll lean upon you thus. 

LYCIUS. 

So lean for ever ! {Exeunt. 



SCENE II. 
The Market-place at Corinth. 



Apollonius is discovered discoursing with various young 
Gallants^ namely^ Mercutius, Curio, &c. 

APOLLONIUS. 

Hush, sirs ! 

You raise a tingling blush about my ears, 

That drink such ribaldry and wanton jests — 

For shame ! — for shame ! — 

You misapply good gifts the gods have granted ! 

MEECUTIUS. 

The gods have made us tongues — brains, too, I hope— 
And time will bring us beards. You sages think 
Minerva's owl dwells only in such bushes. 

CURIO. 
Ha ! ha !— Why we'll have wigs upon our chins — 
Long grizzled ones — and snarl about the streets, 



28 LAMIA. 

Hugged up in pride and spleen like any mantle, 
And be philosophers ! 

APOLLONIUS. 

You will do wisely. 

CURIO. 

Ay — I hope — why not ? 
Though age has heaped no winter on our pates. 
Is wisdom such a frail and spoiling thing 
It must be packed in ice ? 

GALLO. 

Or sopped in vinegar ? 

APOLLONIUS. 

We would you were more gray — 

MERCUTIUS. 

Why, would you have us gray before our time ? 

Oh, Life's poor capital is too soon spent 

Without discounting it. Pray do not grudge us 

Our share ; — a little wine — a little love — 

A little youth ! — a little, little folly. 

Since wisdom has the gross. When they are past, 

We'll preach with you, and call 'em vanities. 

APOLLONIUS. 

No ! — leave that to your mummies. Sure your act 
Will purchase you an embalming. Let me see !— 
Here's one hath spent his fortune on a harlot, 
And — if he kept to one it was a merit ! — 
The next has rid the world of so much wine — 
Why that's a benefit. And you, Sir Plume, 
Have turned your Tailor to a Senator ; — ■ 
You've made no man the worse — (for manner's sake ; 



LAMIA. 29 

My speech exempts yourself). You've all done well ; 
If not, your dying shall be placed to your credit. 

CURIO. 

You show us bravely — could you ever praise one ? 

APOLLONIUS. 

One ? and no more ! why then I answer, yes — 
Or rather, no ; for I could never praise him. 
He's as beyond my praise as your complexion — 
I wish you'd take a pattern ! — 

CURIO. 

Of whose back, sir ? 

APOLLONIUS. 

Ay, there you must begin and try to match 
The very shadow of his virtuous worth, 
Before you're half a man. 

MERCUTIUS. 

Who is this model ? 
An ape — an Afric ape — what he and Plato 
Conspire to call a Man. 

APOLLONIUS. 

Then you're a man already ; but no model. 

So I must set my own example up ; 

To show you Virtue, Temperance, and Wisdom, 

And in a youth too ! — 

Not in a withered graybeard like myself. 

In whom some virtues are mere worn-out vices, 

And wisdom but a due and tardy fruit. 

He, like the orange, bears both fruit and flower 

Upon his odorous bough — the fair and ripe ! — 



30 LAMIA. 



CUEIO. 



Why, jou can praise too ! 



APOLLONIUS. 

As well as I dispraise : — They're both in one, 

Since you're disparaged when I talk of graces. 

For example, when I say that he I spoke of 

Is no wild sin-monger — no sot — no dicer, 

No blasphemer o' th' gods — no shameless scoffer, 

!N"o ape — no braggart — no foul libertine — 

Oh no — 

He hugs no witchiDg wanton to his heart, 

He keeps no vices he's obliged to muffle ; — 

But pays a filial honor to gray hairs, 

And guides him by that voice, Divine Philosophy. 

GALLO. 

Well, he's a miracle ! — and what's he called ? 

(all.) 
Ay, who is he ? — who is he ? 

APOLLONIUS. 

His name is Lycius. 

CURIO. 

Then he's coming yonder : — 

Lord, how these island fogs delude our eyes ! 

I could have sworn to a girl too with him. 

APOLLONIUS. 

■^Jj ^J — yo^ know these eyes can shoot so far. 
Or else the jest were but a sorry one. 

CURIO. 
Mercutius sees her too. 



LAMIA. 31 

MEECUTIUS. 

In faith, I do, sir. 

APOLLONIUS. 

Peace, puppies ! — nine days hence you will see truer. 

CIJRIO. 

Nay, but by all the gods — 

GALLO. 

We'll take our oath on't. 

APOLLONIUS. 

Peace, peace ! {aside) I see her too — This is some mockery, 

Illusion, damned illusion! 

What, ho ! Lycius ! 

[Lycixis {entering) wishes to pass aside. Lamia clings close to Mm. 
LAMIA. 

Hark ! — who is that ? — quick, fold me in your mantle ; 
Don't let him see my face ! — 

LYCIUS. 

Nay, fear not, sweet 

'Tis but old Apollonius, my sage guide. 

LAMIA. 

Don't speak to him — don't stay him — let him pass ! — 
I have a terror of those graybeard men^ — ■ 
They frown on Love with such cold churlish brows. 
That sometimes he hath flown ! — 

LYCIUS. 

Ay, he will chide me ; 
But do not you fear aught. Why, how you tremble ! 

LAMIA. 

Pray shroud me closer. I am cold — death cold ! — 

lOld ApoLLONitrs comes up, followed by the Gallants. 



32 LAMIA. 

APOLLONIUS. 

My son, what have you here ? 

LYCIUS. 

A foolish bird that flew into my bosom : — > 
You would not drive him hence ? 

APOLLONIUS. 

Well, let me see it ; 
I have some trifling skill in augury. 
And can divine you from its beak and eyes 
What sort of fowl it is. 

LYCIUS. 

I have learned that, sir ; — 
'Tis what is called — a dove — sacred to Venus : — 

IThe Youths laugh and pluck Apollonius by the sleeve. 
APOLLONIUS. 

Fool ! drive it out ! ito lycius. 

LYCIUS. 

No, not among these hawks here. 

APOLLONIUS. 

Let 's see it, then. 

(all.) 
Ay, ay. old Graybeard, you say well for once ; 

Let 's see it ; — let 's see it ! — 

APOLLONIUS. 

And sure it is no snake — to suit the fable — 
You've nestled in your bosom ? 

LAMIA {under the mantle). 

Lost ! lost ! lost ! — 

MERCUTIUS. 

Hark ! the dove speaks — I knew it was a parrot ! — 



LAMIA. 33 

APOLLONIUS. 

Dear Lycius — my own son (at least till now), 
Let me forewarn you, boy ! — 

LYCIUS. 

No, peace, I will not. 

CURIO. 

There spoke a model for you. 

APOLLOIn^IUS. 

Lycius, Lycius! 
My eyes are shocked, and half my age is killed, 
To see your noble self so ill accompanied ! — 

LYCIUS. 

And, sir, my eyes are shocked too — Fie ! is this 

A proper retinue — for those gray hairs ? 

A troop of scoffing boys ! — Sirs, by your leave 

I must and will pass on. ^^o the Gallants. 

MERCUTIUS. 

That as you can, sir — 

LYCIUS. 

Why then this arm has cleared a dozen such. 

IThey scuffle : in the tuviult Apollonius is overturned. 
APOLLONIUS. 

Unhappy boy I — this overthrow's your own ! — 

[Lycius frees himself and Lamia, and calls back. 
LYCIUS. 

Lift — help him — pick him up ! — fools — ^braggarts — apes — 
Step after me who dares ! — iexu with lamia. 

GALLO. 

Whew ! — here's a model ! — 
How fare you, sir {to Apollonius) — your head ? — I fear 
Your wisdom has suffered by this fall. 

2^' 



34 LAMIA. 

APOLLONIUS. 

My heart aches more. 
Lycius ! Lycius ! — 

CURIO. 

Hark ! he calls his model ! — 
'Twas a brave pattern. We shall never match him. 
Such wisdom and such virtues — in a youth too ! 
He keeps no muffled vices. 

MERCUTIUS. 

No 1 no ! not he ! — 
Nor hugs no naughty wantons in his arms — 

CURIO. 

But pays a filial honor to gray hairs, 

And listens to thy voice — Divine Philosophy ! 

IThey run of, laughing and mocking, 
APOLLONIUS. 

You have my leave to jest. The gods unravel 

This hellish witchery that hides my scholar ! 

Lycius ! Lycius ! lexu apollonitts. 



SCENE III. 

A rich Chamber^ ivith Pictures and Statues. 

Enter Domus unsteadily^ with a flash in his hand. 

DOMUS. 
Here's a brave palace ! [LooMng round. 

Why, when this was spread 
Gold was as cheap as sunshine. How it's stuck 
All round about the walls. Your health, brave pa-lace 1 
Ha! Brother Picus ! Look! are you engaged too.? , 



LAMIA. . 85 

{Enter Picus.) 
Hand us your hand : you see I'm butler here. 
How came you hither ? 

PICUS. 

How ? Why a strange odd man — 
A sort of foreign slave, I think — addressed me 
I' the market, waiting for my turn. 
Like a beast of burthen, and hired me for this service. 

DOMUS. 

So I was hired, too. 

PICUS. 

'Tis a glorious house ! 
But come, let's kiss the lips of your bottle. 

DOMUS. 

Ay, but be modest : wine is apt to blush. 

PICUS. 

'Tis famous beverage : 
It makes me reel i' the head. 

DOMUS. 

I believe ye, boy. 
Why, since I sipped it— (mind, I'd only sipped) — 
I've had such glorious pictures in my brains — 
Such rich rare dreams ! 

Such blooms, and rosy bowers, and tumbling fountains, 
With a score of moons shining at once upon me — 
I never saw such sparkling ! iDrtnks. 

PICUS. 

Here's a vision ! 

DOMUS. 

The sky was always bright ; or, if it gloomed, 
The very gtormg came on with scented Wftters, 



36 LAMIA. 

And, if it snowed, 'twas roses ; claps of thunder 

Seemed music, only louder ; naj, in the end. 

Died off in gentle ditties. Then, such birds ! 

And gold and silver chafers bobbed about ; 

And when there came a little gush of wind. 

The very flowers took wing and chased the butterflies ! 

PICUS. 

Egad, 'tis very sweet, I prithee, dearest Domus, 
Let me have one small sup ! 

DOMUS. 

No ! hear me out. 
The hills seemed made of cloud, bridges of rainbows, 
The earth like trodden smoke. 
Nothing at all was heavy, gross, or human : 
Mountains, with climbing cities on their backs, 
Shifted about like castled elephants ; 
You might have launched the houses on the sea, 
And seen them swim like galleys ! 
The stones I pitched i' the ponds would barely sink — 
I could have lifted them by tons ! iDnnics. 

PICUS. 
Dear Domus, let me paint, too — dear, dear Domus. 

DOMUS. 

Methought I was all air — Jove ! I was feared, 

I had not flesh enough to hold me down 

From mounting up to the moon. 

At every step — 

Bounce ! when I only thought to stride a pace, 

I bounded thirty. 

PICUS. 

Thirty ! Oh, let me drink ! 



LAMIA. 37 

DOMUS. 

And that too when I'd even eat or drank 

At the rate of two meals to the hour ! iDnnks. 

PICUS. 

Two meals to the hour — nay Domus — let me drink, 
Dear Domus let me drink — before 'tis empty ! — 

DOMUS. 

But then my fare was all so light and delicate, 
The fruits, the cakes, the meats so dainty frail. 
They would not bear a bite — no, not a munch. 
But melted away like ice. Come, here's the bottle ! 

PICUS. 

Thanks, DomuS' — Pshaw, it's empty ! — Well, who cares — 

There's something thin and washy after all 

In these poor visions. They all end in emptiness. 

Dike this. iTums down the bottle. 

DOMUS. 

Then fill again, boy — fill again ! 
And be . I say. look there ! — 

PICUS. 

It is our Lady ! 

[Lamia enters leaning upon LTCitrs. 
DOMUS. 

Our Lady's very welcome : {lowing^ yours, my lady — 
Sir, your poor butler : {to Lycius) Picus — man — speak up, 
The very same that swam so in my dreams ; 
I had forgot the goddess !— 

LAMIA. 

Peace, rude knave ! 
You've tasted what belonged to nobler brains, 



38 LAMIA. 

And maddened ! — Mj sweet love {to Lycius) 'twas kept for 

you, 
'Tis nature's choicest vintage. 

{to DoMUs) Drink no more, sir ! 
Except what I'll provide you. 

DOMUS. 

sweet Lady ! 
Lord, and I had a cup I'd thank you in it ! — 
But you've been drunk — sweet lady — you've been drunk ! 
Here's Master Picus knows — for we drunk you. 

PIOUS. 
Not I, in faith. 

LYOIUS. 

Ha ! ha ! my gentle love, 
Methinks your butler should have been your steward. 

DOMUS. 

Why you are merry, sir — - 
And well you may. Look here's a house we've come to I 
Jupiter ! 
Look here are pictures, sir, and here's our statues ! — 

That's Bacchus 1 IPointing. 

And there's Apollo — just aiming at the serpent. 

LAMIA. 

Peace, fool — my dearest Lycius, 
Pray send him forth. 

LYCIUS. 
Sirrah, take him off! iTo steward. 

PIOUS. 

Pie, Domus — know your place. 



LAMIA. 39 

DOMUS. 

Mj place, slave ! 
What, don't I know mj place? iPaiis on Ms back. 

Ain't I the butler ? 

LYCIUS. 

No more — no more — there — pull him out by the heels — 

[DoMus is dragged out. 

{To Lamia.) Mj most dear love — how fares it with jou 

now ? 
Your cheek is somewhat pale. 

LAMIA. 

Indeed, I'm weary, 
We'll not stay here — I have some cheer provided 
In a more quiet chamber. iExeunt 



SCENE IV. 

A Street in Corinth ; on one side a very noble building., which 
is the residence of Lamia. Mercutius, with the other Gal- 
lants., come and discourse in front of the house. 

MEECUTIUS. 
So, here they're lodged ! 

In faith a pretty nest \ 

GALLO. 

The first that led us hither for revenge — 
O brave Mercutius ! 

CUEIO. 

Now my humor's different, 
For while there's any stone left in the market-place 
That hurt these bones, when that pert chick o'erset us 
I'd never let him sleep ! — 



40 LAMIA. 

GALLO. 

Nor I, by Nemesis ! 
I'd pine him to a ghost for want of rest. 
To the utter verge of death. 

MERCUTIUS. 

And then you'd beat him. 
Is that your noble mind ? 

GALLO. 

Lo 1 here's a turncoat ! 
D'ye hear him, gentles ? — he's come here to fool us ! 

MERCUTIUS. 

Nor I ; but that I'm turned, I will confess it ; 

For as we came — in thinking over this — 

Of Lycius, and the lady whom I glanced 

Crouching within his mantle — 

Her most distressful look came so across me — ■ 

Her death-white cheeks — 

That I, for one, can find no heart to fret her. 

CURIO. 

Shall Lycius then go free ? 

MERCUTIUS. 

Ay for her sake : — 
But do your pleasure ; it is none of mine. 

GALLO. 

Why, a false traitor ! lexU. 

CURIO. 

Sirs, I can expound him ; 
He's smit — he's passion-smit — I heard him talk 
Of her strange witching eyes — such rare ones 
That they turned him cold as stone. 



LAMIA. 41 

GALLO. 

Why let him go then — but we'll to our own. 

CURIO. 

Ay, let's be plotting 
How we can vent our spites on this Sir Ljcius — 
I own it stirs my spleen, more than my bruises, 
To see him fare so well — hang him ! — a model ! — 
One that was perked too, underneath our noses. 
For virtue and for temperance. 
I have a scheme will grieve 'em without end : . 
I planned it by the way. 
You know this fellow, Lycius, has a father 
Some fifteen leagues away. We'll send him thither 
By some most urgent message. 

GALLO. 

Bravely plotted : 
His father shall be dying. Ah ! 'tis excellent. 
I long to attempt the lady ; — nay, we'll set 
Mercutius, too, upon her ! Pray, let's to it. 

Look ! here's old Ban-dog. \_Afoj.j.o^ivb appears in the distance. 

CURIO. 

Nay, but I will act 
Some mischief ere I go. There's for thee, Lycius ! 

iHe casts a stone through the ivindoio, and they run off. 

Enter Apollonius. 
APGLLOlNlUS. 

Go to, ye silly fools ! — Lo ! here's a palace ! 
I have grown gray in Corinth, but my eyes 
Never remember it. Who is the master ? 
Some one is coming forth. Lycius again I 

[Lycius comes out disordered, with his -face flushed, and reels up to Apollonixtb. 



42 LAMIA. 

LYCIUS. 

Why, how now, Graybeard ? What ! are these your frolics, 
To sound such rude alarum in our ears ? 
Go to ! 

APOLLONIUS. 

Son, do you know me ? 

LYCIUS, 

Know you ? Why ? 
Or how ? You have no likeness in our skies ! 
Gray hairs and such sour looks ! You'd be a wonder ! 
We have nothing but bright faces. Hebes, Venuses ; 
No age, no frowns ! 

No wrinkle, but our laughter shakes in wine. 
I wish you'd learn to drink. 

apollOnius. 

Lycius ! Lycius ! 
Would you had never learned to drink, except those springs 
We supped together ! These are mortal draughts ; — 
Your cup is drugged with death ! 

LYCIUS. 

Grave sir, you lie ! 
I'm a young god. Look ! do you not behold 
The new wings on my shoulders ? You may die ; 
That moss upon your chin proclaims you're mortal. 
And feel decays of age. But I'm renewable 
At every draught I take ! Here. Domus ! Domus ! 

Enter Domus. 

Bring a full cup of nectar for this churl. iexu domus. 

'Twill give you back your youth, sir — ay, like magic — 
And lift you o'er the clouds. You'll dream of nothing 



LAMIA. 43 

That's meaner than Olympus. Smiling goddesses 
Will haunt you in your sleep. You'll walk on flowers. 
And never crush their heads. 

Enter Domus with wine. 

APOLLo:srius. 

Peace, madman, peace ! 
[N'one of your draughts for me — your magic potions, 
That stuff your brains with such pernicious cheats ! 
I say, bear off the bowl ! 

LYCIUS. 

What !— will he not ?— 
Then cast it over him — 'twill do as well ; — 
He shall be a demi-god against his will. 
Cast it, I say ! — ito domtts. 

DOMUS. 

'Tis such a sinful waste ! 
Why, there, then — there ! iHe throws u over apollonius. 

Look how it falls to the ground ! 
Lord, you might soak him in it year by year, 
And never plump him up to a comely youth 
Like you or me, sir ! — 

LYCIUS. 

Let him go. Farewell ! — 
Look, foolish Graybeard — I am going back 
To what your wisdom scorned. A minute hence 
My soul is in Elysium ! [Exu ivuk domits. 

APOLLONIUS. 

Fool, farewell ! 
Why, I was sprinkled ; yet I feel no wet. 
'Tis strange ! — this is some magic, against which 



44 LAMIA. 

Philosophy is proof. I must untangle it. 

Hold ! — [He stands in meditation. 

I have it faintly dawning in my brain. 

'Tis somewhere in my books (which I'll refer to) — 

Speaking of Nature's monstrous prodigies, 

That there be witching snakes — Circean births — 

Who, by foul spells and forgeries, can take 

The mask and shape of woman — fair externe, 

But viperous within. And so they creep 

Into young hearts, and falsify the brain 

With juggling mockeries. Alas, poor boy. 

If this should be thy case ! These are sad tales 

To send unto thy father. 

[Meecutitjs enters without perceiving Apollonitts : going, up to 

Lamia's house, he recollects himself. 

MEPtCUTIUS. 

Here again ? 
What folly led me hither ? I thought I was 
Proceeding homeward. Why I've walked a circle, 

And end where I began ! [AroLLoi>ritrs goes up and calls in his ear. 

APOLLONIUS. 

I'll tell you, dreamer ; 
It's magic, it's vile magic brought you hither, 
And made you walk in a fog. 
There, think of that ;— be wise, and save yourself ! 
I've better men to care for ! [^s;^^ apollonius. 

MERCUTIUS. 

What did he say ? 
The words were drowned in my ear by something sweeter. 

lA strain of icild music within the house. 

Music ! rare music ! — It must be her voice ; 
I ne'er heard one so thrilling ! Is it safe 



LAMIA. 45 

To listen to a song so sjren-sweet — so exquisite ? — 
That I might hold mj breath, entranced, and die 
Of ardent listening ? She is a miracle ! 

£Jnter Domus. 
Look, here's a sot will tell me all he knows. 
One of her servants — 
Is that your lady's voice? (ifo Domus) her pipe's a rare one. 

DOMIJS. 

Ay, marry. If you heard it sound within, 

Till it makes the glasses chime, and all the bottles, 

You'd think yourself in heaven. 

MEECUTIUS. 

I wish she'd sing again. 

DOMUS. 

And if you saw her eyes, how you would marvel ! 

I have seen my master watch them, and fall back 

Like a man in his fits. I'm rather dizzy. 

And drunken-like myself The vile quandaries 

Her beauty brings one into — istaggers about. 

Aj, I'm crazed. But you should see our Picus — 

Lord, how he stands agape, till he drops his salver. 

And then goes down on his knees. 

MERCUTIUS. 

And so should I, 
Had I been born to serve her ! isighs. 

DOMUS. 

Why you shall, boy ; 
And have a leather jerkin — marry, shall you ! 
We need a helper sadly. I'm o'er-burdened 
(You see how I am burdened) ; but I'll teach you 
What manners you may want. 



46 LAMIA. 

MEKCUTIUS. 

Well, I'm for you — 
(I will dislike no place that brings me near her) — 
Mind, you have listed me. 

DOMUS. 

And I can promise 
You'll not dislike your fare — 'tis excellent, light 
As well as savory, and will not stuff you ; 
But when you've eat your stretch to the outer button, 
In half an hour you'll hunger. It is all feasting, 
With barely a tithe of fasting. Then such drinking ! 
There's such a cellar ! 

One hundred paces long (for I have paced it), 
By about two hundred narrow. Come along, boy ! [Ecseunt. 



* SCENE V. 

A Chamber in Lamia's House. Lamia and Lycius are 
discovered sitting 'on a couch. 

LAMIA. 
Nay, sweet-lipped Silence, 
'Tis now your turn to talk. I'll not be cheated 
Of any of my pleasures ; w^hich I shall be, 
Unless I sometimes listen. 

LYCIUS. 

Pray talk on, 
A little further on. You have not told me 
What country bore you, that my heart may set 
Its name in a partial place. Nay, your own name- — 
Which ought to be my better word for beauty^ 
I know not. 



LAMIA. 47 

LAMIA. 

Wherefore should I talk of such things 
I care not to remember ? A lover's memory 
Looks back no further than when love began, 
As if the dawn o' the world. 
As for mj birth — suppose I like to think 
That we were dropped from two strange several stars 
(Being thus meant for one), why should you wish 
A prettier theory, or ask my name, 
As if I did not answer, heart and eyes, 
To those you call me by ? In sooth, I will not 
Provide you with a worse. 

LYCIUS. 

Then I must find it. Now I'm but puzzled 
To compound sweet superlatives enough 

In all the world of words. [Domus enters boisterously with a letter. 

DOMUS. 

An express ! an express ! 
Faith, I've expressed it. I did not even wait {aside) 
To pry between the folds. 

[Lycius takes the letter^ and reads in great agitation. Lamia watches him. 
LAMIA. 

Alas ! what news is this ? Lycius ! dear Lycius ! 
Why do you clutch your brow so ? What has chanced 
To stab you with such grief? Speak ! speak ! 

LYCIUS. 

My father ! 

LAMIA. 

Dead ? 

LYCIUS. 

Dying — dying — if not dead by this. 
I must leave you instantly. 



48 LAMIA. 

LAMIA. 

Alas ! I thought 
This fair-ejed day would never see you from me ! 
But must you go, indeed ? 

LYCIUS. 

I must ! I must ! 
This is some fierce and fearful malady 
To fall so sudden on him. Why, I left him, 
No longer since — ay, even when I met you 
We had embraced that morn. 

LAMIA. 

It was but yesterday ! 
How soon our bliss is marred ! And must you leave me ? 

LYCIUS. 

Oh ! do not ask again with such a look. 
Or I shall linger here and pledge my soul 
To everlasting shame and keen remorse ! 

LAMIA. 

The Fates are cruel ! 
Yet let me cling to thee and weep awhile : 
We may not meet again. I can not feel 
You are safe but in these arms ! LShe embraces Mm. 

LYCIUS. 

I'm split asunder 
By opposite factions of remorse and love ; 
But all my soul clings here. 

DOMUS. 

It makes me weep. 

He will not see his father. ULrcws casta Mmsel/ on the couch. 



LAMIA. 49 

LAMIA (striUng Domub). 

Wretch ! take that, 
For harrowing up his griefs ! Dearest ! — my Lycius I 
Lean not your brow upon that heartless pillow ! 

DOMUS. 

How he groaned then ! 

LAMIA. 

Lycius J you fright me ! 
You turn me cold ! 

LYCIUS (nsing vp). 

Oh ! in that brief rest, 
I've had a waking vision of my father ! 
Even as he lay on his face and groaned for me. 
And shed like bitter tears ! 

Oh, how those groans will count in heaven against me ! 
One for pain's cruelty, but two for mine. 
That gave a sting to his anguish. 
His dying breath will mount to the skies and curse me. 
His angered ghost 

Will haunt my sight, and when I'd look upon you 
Step in like a blot between us. 

LAMIA. 

Go, go ! or you will hate me. Go and leave me 1 
If I now strive by words or tears to stay you 
For my pleasure's sake or pain's, 
You'd say there was something brutal in my nature 
Of cold and fiendish, and unlike woman ; 

Some taint that devilish 

Yet give me one long look before you go — 

One last; long look ! iShe fixes her eyes on Us. 



50 LAMIA. 

LYCIUS. 

gods ! my spirit fails me, 
And I have no strength to go, although I would ! 

LAMIA. 

Perhaps he is dead already ! 

LYCIUS. 

Ha ! Why, then, 
What can I ? Or, if not, what can I still ? 
Can I keep him from his urn ? or give him breath ? 
Or replenish him with blood ? 

LAMIA. 

Alas ! alas ! 
Would I had art or skill enough to heal him ! 

LYCIUS. 

Ay, art and skill, indeed, do more than love 

In such extremities. Stay ! here, hard by, 

There dwells a learned and most renowned physician, 

Hath wrought mere miracles. 

Him I'll engage, armed with our vows and prayers. 

To spend his utmost study on my father, 

And promptly visit him. A short farewell. 

lExit DoMTJS follows. 
LAMIA. 

Farewell — be not o'er long. It made me tremble 

That he should see his father ! The oldest eyes 

Look through some fogs that young ones cannot fathom, 

And lay bare mysteries. Ah me ! how frail 

Are my foundations ! Dreams, mere summer dreams, 

Which, if a day-beam pierce, return to nothing ! 

And let in sadder shows. A foot !— so soon ! 

Why, then, my wishes hold. • 



LAMIA. 51 

Enter Domus and Picus. 
DOMUS. 

He's gone ! he's gone ! 
He had not snuffed the air, outside o' the gate, 
When it blew a change in his mind. He bade me tell you, 
A voice from the sky-roof, where the gods look down, 
Commanded him to his father. 

LAMIA. 

No more ! no more ! 
(The skies begin, then, to dispute my charms.) 
But did he ne'er turn back ? 

DOMUS. 

Ay, more than twice 
He turned on his heel, and stood — then turned again, 
And tramped still quicker as he got from hence, 
Till at last he ran like a lapwing 1 

LAMIA. 

This is a tale 
Coined by the silly drunkard. You, sir, speak. ito picus, 

PICUS. 

Nay, by our troths — 

LAMIA. 

Then, sirrah, do not speak. 
If such vile sense be truth, I've had too much on't. 
Hence ! fly ! or I will kill you with a frown. 
You've maddened me ! 

PICUS. 

I saw her eyes strike fire ! 

[Picirs and Domus run out. Lamia looks round the chamber. 
LAMIA. 

Alone ! alone ! 
Then, Lamia, weep, and mend your shatter- web. 



52 LAMIA. 

And hang jour tears, like morning dew, upon it. 
Look how your honey-bee has broken loose 
Through all his meshes, and now wings away, 
Showing the toils were frail. Ay, frail as gossamers 
That stretch from rose to rose. Some adverse power . 
Confronts me, or he could not tear them thus. 
Some evil eye has pierced my mystery ! 
A blight is in its ken ! 

I feel my charms decay — my will's revoked- 
And my keen sight, once a prophetic sense, 
Is blinded with a cloud, horrid and black, 
Like a veil before the face of Misery ! 

Another Apartment in Lamia's House. Enter Julius (Ltcius's 
brother) and Domus. 

JULIUS. 
Kumor has not belied the house i' the least ; 
'Tis all magnificent. I pray you, sir, 
How long has your master been gone ? 

DOMUS. 

About two quarts, sir ; 
That is, as long as one would be a drinking 'em. 
'Tis a very little while since he set ofi", sir. 

JULIUS. 

You keep a strange reckoning. 

Where is your mistress ? Will she see me ? 

DOMUS. 

Ay, marry ; 
That is, if you meet ; for it is good broad daylight. 

JULIUS. 

This fellow's manners speak but ill for the house. (^Aside.y 
Go, sirrah, to your lady, with my message : 



LAMIA. 53 

Tell her, one Julius, Lycius's best friend, 

Desires a little converse. lexu bouvb. 

Now for this miracle, whose charms have bent 

The straightest stem of youth strangely awry 

My brother Lycius ! 

He was not use to let his inclination 

Thus domineer his reason : the cool, grave shade 

Of Wisdom's porch dwelt ever on his brow 

And governed all his thoughts, keeping his passions 

Severely chastened. Lo ! she comes. How wondrously 

Her feet glide o'er the ground. Ay, she is beautiful ! 

So beautiful, my task looks stern beside her, 

And duty faints like doubt. [Lamia enters. 

Oh, thou sweet fraud ! 
Thou fair excuse for sin, whose matchless cheek 
Yies blushes with the shame it brings upon thee, 
Thou delicate forgery of love and virtue, 
Why art thou as thou art, not what here seems 
So exquisitely promised ? 

LAMIA. 

Sir, do you know me ? 
If not — and my near eyes declare you strange — 
Mere charity should make you think me better. 

JULIUS. 

Oh, would my wishful thought could think no worse 

Than I might learn by gazing. 

Why are not those sweet looks — those heavenly looks, 

True laws to judge thee by, and call thee perfect? 

'Tis pity, indeed 'tis pity. 

That anything so fair should be a fraud ! 



54 LAMIA. 

LAMIA. 

Sir, I beseech you, wherefore do you hang 
These elegies on me ? For pity's sake 
What do you take me for ? No woman, sure. 
By aiming thus to wound me (weeping). 

JULIUS. 

Ay, call these tears 
Into your ready eyes 1 I'd have them scald 
Your cheeks until they fade, and wear your beauty 
To a safe and ugly ruin. Those fatal charms 
Can show no sadder wreck than they have brought 
On many a noble soul, and noble mind 
Pray count me : 

How many men's havocks might forerun the fall 
Of my lost brother Lycius ? 

LAMIA. 

Are you his brother ? 
Then I'll not say a word to vex you : not a look 
Shall aim at your offence. You are come to chide me, 
I know, for winning him to sell his heart 
At such a worthless rate. Yet I will hear you. 
Patiently, thankfully, for his dear sake. 
I will be as mild and humble as a worm 
Beneath your just rebuke. 'Tis sure no woman 
Deserved him ; but myself the least of all, 
Who fall so far short in his value. 

JULIUS. 

She touches me ! {Aside.) 

LAMIA. 

Look, sir, upon my eyes. Are they not red ? 
Within an hour, I've rained a flood of tears. 



LAMIA. . 55 

To feel, to know 

I am no better than the thing I am, 

Having but just now learned to rate my vileness. 

You cannot charge 

My unworthy part so bitterly as I do. 

If there's about me anything that's honest, 

Of true and womanly, it belongs to Lycius, 

And all the rest is Griefs. 

JULIUS. 
Then I'll not grieve you — 
I came with frowns, but I depart in tears 
And sorrow for you both ; for what he was, 
And what you might have been — a pair of wonders, 
The grace and pride of nature — now disgraced, 
And fallen beyond redress. 

LAMIA. 

You wring my heart ! 

JULIUS. 

Ay, if you think how you have made him stain 
The fair-blown pride of his unblemished youth. 
His studious years — 

And for what poor exchange ? these fading charms — 
I will not say how frail. 

LAMIA. 

hold — pray hold ! 
Your words have subtle cruel stings, and pierce 
More deeply than you aim ! This sad heart knows 
How little of such wrong and spiteful ill 
Were in love's contemplation when it clasped him I 
Lycius and bliss made up my only thought ; 
But now, alas ! 



66 LAMIA. 

A sudden truth dawns on me, like a light 
Through the remainder tatters of a dream, 
And shows mj bliss in shreds. 

JULIUS. 

I pity you ! 
Nay, doubtless, you will be, some wretched day, 
A perished cast-off weed when found no flower — 
Or else even then, his substance being gone. 
My brother's heart will break at your desertion. 

LAMIA. 

never, never ! iFerventiy, 

Never, by holy truth ! while I am woman 

Be false what may, at least my heart is honest. 

Look round you, sir; this wealth, such as it is. 

Once mine, is now all his ; and w^hen 'tis spent, 

I'll beg for him, toil for him, steal for him ! 

God knows how gladly I would share his lot. 

This speaking moment in a humble shed. 

Like any of our peasants ! — ay, lay these hands 

To rude and rugged tasks, expose these cheeks 

You are pleased to flatter, to the ardent sun ; 

So we might only live in safe pure love 

And constant partnership — never to change 

In each other's hearts and eyes ! 

JULIUS. 

You mend your fault. 
This late fragmental virtue much redeems you ; 
Pray, cherish it. Hark ! what a lawless riot. 

[A loud hoisterous shout is heard from below. 

hope — Again ! (the noise rejiewed) why then this is a 

triumph 
Of your true fame, which I had just mistaken ; 



LAMIA. 57 

Shame on thee, smooth dissembler — shame upon thee ! 
Is this the music of your songs of sorrow. 
And well-feigned penitence- — lo ! here, are these 
Your decent retinue 

Enter the wild Gallants^ flushed with wine. 

LAMIA. 

Sir, by heaven's verity 
I do not know a face 1 indeed I do not ; 
They are strange to me as the future. 

cumo. 

Then the future 
Must serve us better, chuck. Here, bully mates, 
These, lady, are my friends, and friends of Lycius ! 

JULIUS. 

Is it so ? — then Lycius is fallen indeed ! 

CURIO. 

Ay, he has had his trip — as who has not, sir ? 
I'll warrant you've had your stumbles. 

JULIUS. 

Once — on an ape. 
Get out o' the way of my shins. . lOoxng. 

LAMIA. 

Sir, dearest sir. 
In pity do not go, for your brother's sake^ 
If not for mine — take up my guardianship, 
'Gainst these ungentle men. cs'Ae lays uu 0/ Julius. 

JULIUS. 

Off, wanton, off! 
Would you have me of your crew, too ? [^^'^ roughiij. 

3-* 



58 LAMIA. 

GALLO. 

Let him go ! — 
He has a graft in him of that sour crab. 
The Apollonius — let him go, a churl ! 

CURIO. 

Sweet ladj, you look sad — fie, it was ill done of Lycius, 
To leave his dove so soon — but he has some swan 
At nest in another place. 

GALLO. 

I'll bet my mare on't. 

LAMIA. 

Kind sirs, indeed I'm sorry 

Your friend's not here. If he were by, 

He would help you to your welcome. 

CURIO. 

We've no doubt on't; iButeriy. 
But we'll not grieve, since here we are quite enough 
For any merriment. 

GALLO. 

And as for a welcome, 
"We'll acknowledge it on your cheer. 

LAMIA. 

Then that's but sorry, sir, 
If you mean what lies in my heart. 

GALLO. 

No, no in faith, 
We mean what lies in your cellar — wine, rare wine. 
We will pledge you in floods on' t, and when knocked off our 

legs. 
Adore you on our knees. 



LAMIA. 59 

LAMIA. 

Hear me, sweet gentles, 
How you shall win my favor. Set to work and copy — • 
Be each a Lycius. 

GALLO. 

Lycius, forsooth ! hang him! 
A model again I the perfect model. 

CURIO. 

As if we could not match his vices ! 

Pray ask your Lycius, when he's new come back, 

(If ever he come back) 

What his father ailed, or if he ailed at all, 

And how it ailed too, that his brother Julius 

Got no such forged advice. 

GALLO. 

It had charmed your heart to see how swift he ran, 
(Whether to get from hence or gain elsewhere, 
I know not), but I never saw such striving, 
Save at the Olympic games to win the goal. 

(all.) 
Ha! ha! ha! 

LAMIA. 

Laugh on, I pray, laugh on. Ye puny spites ! 

You think to fret me with these ill coined tales ; 

But look, I join in your glee, ishe attempts to laugh. 

Or if I cannot, 'tis because I'm choked with a curse. 

IShe hurries out. 
GALLO. 

It works ! it wings her ! What shall we next ? 
Follow her, or carry her off? 



60 LAMIA. 

CURIO. 

These are too violent, 
And perilous to ourselves ; but I will fit 
Our revenge to its other half. Sir Ljcius now 
Must have the green eye set in his head, and then 
They'll worry each other's hearts without our help. 
Julius or Apollonius will be our ready organs 
To draw his ear. 

GALLO. 

'Tis plausible, and cannot fail to part 'em, 

And when he has shaken her from off his bough 

It needs she must fall to us. 

CURIO. 

I wonder where 
That poor sick fool Mercutius is gone ? 
He hath a chance now. 

GALLO. 

Methought I glanced him 
Below, and forsooth, disguised as a serving-man ; 
But he avoided me. 

CURIO. 

The subtle fox ! 

Let us go beat him up. lEaeunt Mllooing. 



' SCENE VL 

The Street before Lamia's House. Enter Apollonius with 

Julius. 
APOLLONIUS. 

I say she is a snake — 

JULIUS. 

And so say I ; 



LAMIA. 61 

APOLLONIUS. 

But not in the same sense — 

JULIUS. 

No, not exactly. 
You take that literal, which I interpret 
But as a parable — a figure feigned 
By the elder sages (much inclined to mark 
Their subtle meanings in dark allegories) 
For those poisonous natures — those bewitching sins 
That armed and guarded with a woman's husk, 
But viperous within, seduce young hearts, 
And sting where they are cherished 

APOLLONIUS. 

Your guess is shrewd ; 
ISTay, excellent enough to have been my own. 
But, hark you, I have read in elder oracles 
Than ever you will quote, the fact v^hich backs me. 
In Greece, in the midst of Greece, it hath been known. 
And attested upon oath, i' the faith of multitudes. 
That such true snakes have been — real hissing serpents, 
Though outwardly like w^omen. 
With one of such, a youth, a hopeful youth. 
Sober, discreet, and able to subdue 
His passions otherwise — even like our Lycius — 
For a fortnight lived, in a luxury of wealth, 
Till suddenly she vanished, palace and all, 
Like the shadow of a cloud. 

JULIUS. 

The dainty fable ! 
But now unto the proof. Methinks this sounds 
Like a real door {knocking); a cloud scarce wars so, 



62 LAMIA. 

But when Jove strikes it with a thunderbolt. 

I'll tell you, sir, 

She is a wanton, and that's quite enough 

To perish a world of wealth. [Pictts comes to the door. 

Ho, sirrah ! fellow 1 
Is your lady now within ? 

PICUS. 

No, sir, she's out. 
Something hath put her out — she will see nobody. 
She's ill, she's grievous bad — her head won't bear 
The rout of company. la loud shout witun. 

APOLLONIUS. 

Why, then, I think 
The medical conclave might observe more quiet. 
Look, knave ! are these her grave, her learned physicians ? 

AAfCll met, sirs. lAnother shout, and Cueio, etc., issue forth. 

CURIO. 

That's as may be. Ha ! old mastiff! 
Go to your kennel. 

JULIUS. 

You are just in time, sirs, 
To settle our dispute : we have a gage on't, 
The sophist here and I. 
There is one lives in that house — {pointing to Lamia's) — 

how would you call her ? 
A woman ? 

CURIO. 

Ay ; and sure a rare one, 

As I have proved upon her lips. 

[Lamia opens a window gentlp and listens. 
GALLO. 

Ay, marry, have we ! 
She was kind enough, for our poor sakes, to send 



LAMIA. 63 

One Lycius, her late suitor, on an errand 
That will make him footsore. 

CURIO. 

Yes, a sort of summons 
Cunningly forged to bid him haste to his father, 
Who lay in the jaws of death. Lord, how he'll swear 
To find the old cock quite well ! 

JULIUS. 

This is too true, ito apollomus. 
I left our father but this very morn 
The halest of old men. He was then on his way 
Toward this city, on some state afiair. 
They'll encounter upon the road I 

APOLLONIUS. 

Here is some foul and double damned deception. 

[Lamia, hy signs, assents to this reflection. 

I'll catechise myself Here, sir — you — you — iToCvmo. 
Who have gazed upon this witch, touched her, and talked 

with her, 
How know you she is woman, flesh and blood, 
True clay and mortal lymph, and not a mockery 
Made up of infernal elements of magic ? 
Canst swear she is no cloud — no subtle ether — 
No fog, bepainted with deluding dyes — 
'No cheating underplot — no covert shape, 
Making a filthy masquerade of nature ? 
I say, how know ye this ? 

CURIO. 

How ? by my senses. 
If I nipped her cheek, till it brought the white and red, 
I wot she is no fog. 



64 LAMIA. 

APOLLONIUS. 

Fie on the senses ! 
What are the senses but our worst arch-traitors ? 
What is a madman but a king betrayed 
By the corrupted treason of his senses ? 
His robe a blanket, and his sceptre a straw, 
His crown his bristled hair. 
Fie on the shallow senses ! What doth swear 
Such perjuries as the senses ? — what give birth 
To such false rumors, and base verdicts render 
In the very spite of truth ? Go to : thy senses 
Are bond-slaves, both to madness and to magic, 
And all the mind's disease. I say the senses 
Deceive thee, though they say a stone's a stone. 
And thou wilt swear by them an oath, forsooth, 
And say the outer woman is utter woman, 
And not a whit a snake ! Hark ! there's my answer. 

[Lamia closes the window violently. 

That noise shall be rriy comment. 

GALLO. 

He talks in riddles, 
Like a sphinx lapped in a blanket. Gentles — Curio — 
Let us leave him to his wisdom. 

APOLLONIUS. 

Ay, I'll promise 
'Twill dive far deeper than your feather wits 

Into some mysteries. iGoing toward the door. 

CURIO. 

There's one I know in her house, 

By name Mercutius, a most savage fellow : 

I commend ye to his wrath. lExeunt Cxtrio, GALLo.efc. 



LAMIA. 65 

APOLLONIUS. 

So, get ye gone, 
Ye unregarded whelps. 

JULIUS. 

But will you in, 
"Whether she will or no ? 

APOLLONIUS. 

Indeed I mean it. 
Sirrah {to Picus), lead on. I'll charge you with your 

message. [Exeunt. 



SCENE VII. 

A Chamber in Lamia's House. Enter Mercutius in a 

distracted manner. 

MERCUTIUS. 

Where is this haunting witch ? Not here ! not here ! — 

Why then for a little rest and unlooked calm — 

Ay, such a calm 

As the shipmate curses on the stagnate sea 

Under the torrid zone, that bakes his deck 

Till it burns the sole of his foot. My purpose idles, 

But my passions burn without pause ; how this hot 

And scarlet plague runs boiling through my veins 

Like a molten lava ! I'm all parched up. 

There's not a shady nook throughout my brain 

For a qaiet thought to lie — no, not a spring 

Of coolness left in my heart. If I have any name, 

It is Fever, who is all made up of fire, 

Of pangs — deliriums — raving ecstacies- 



6Q LAMIA. 

And desperate impulse. Ha ! a foot ! — I know it 1 — 
Now then, I'll ambush here, and come upon her 
Like a wild boar from a thicket. 

IHe hides himself behind an arras: Lamia enters, holding her forehead 
betwiist her palms. 

LAMIA. 

This should be a real head, or 'twould not throb so ; 

Who ever doubts it ? 

I would he had these racking pains within ; 

Aj, and those he hath set in mj heart, to drive him mad. 

How now, sir ! 

Miter Picus. 

PICUS. 

There are two below beseech you 
For a conference. The one's a wrinkled grajbeard, 
The other — 

LAMIA. 

You need not name. I will see neither ; 
And tell them — look — with a copy of this frown, 
If they congregate again beneath my eaves, 
I have that will hush their twitting. les^u Picxrs. 

Why must I reap 
These unearned spites where I have sown no hate ? 
Do the jealous gods 

Stir up these cankered spirits to pursue me ? 
Another ! (Mekcutius comes forward) What brings thee 
hither ? 

MEKCUTIUS {cjloomily). 

I do not know — 
If love or hate — indeed I do not know — 
Or whether a twine of both — they're so entangled. 
Mayhap to clasp thee to my heart, and kiss thee, 



LAMIA. 67 

To fondle thee, or tear thee, I do not know : 
Whether I come to die, or work thj death, 
Whether to be thj tyrant or thy slave, 
In truth, I do not know. 

But that some potent yearning draws me to thee. 
Something, as if those lips were rich and tempting. 
And worthy of caressing — fondly endeared — 
And something as if a tortured devil within me 
Sought revenge of his pangs : I cannot answer 
Which of these brings me hither. 

LAMIA. 

Then prythee hence, 
■ Till that be analysed. 

MERCUTIUS. 

Ha ! ha ! turn back : 
Why if I am a tiger — here's my prey — 
Or if the milk -mild dove — here is my choice- 
Do you think I shall turn back howe'er it be ? 
Let the embrace prove which. Nay, do not shrink, 
If an utter devil press into thy arms, 
Thyself invoked him ! 

LAMIA. 

Ah ! I know by this 
Your bent is evil ! 

MERCUTIUS. 

Then 'twas evil born ! 
As it works 'twas wrought on— look — say what I am, 
For I have no recognizance of myself 
Am I wild beast or man — civil or savage — 
Reasoning or brutal — or gone utter mad — 
So am I as- thou turned me — hellish or heavenly, 
The slavish subject of thy influence— 



68 LAMIA. 

I know not what I am — nor how I am. 

But by thy own enforcement — come to force thee, 

Being passion-mad. 

LAMIA. 

How have I wrought hither ? 
I would thou wert away ! 

MERCUTIUS. 

Why dost thou sit then 
I' the middle of a whirlpool drawing me unto thee ; 
My brain is dizzy, and my heart is sick, 
With the circles I have made round thee and round thee ! 
Till I dash into thy arms ! 

LAMIA. 

There shalt thou never ! 
Go ! desperate man ; away ! — and fear thy gods, 
Or else the hot indignation in my eyes 
Will blast thee. 0, beware ! I have within me 
A dangerous nature, which if thou provoke, 
Acts cruelty. Ne'er chafe me ; thou had'st better 
Ruffle a scorpion than the thing I am ! 
Away ! 
Or I'll bind thy bones till they crack ! 

MERCUTIUS. 

Ha ! ha ! dost threaten ? 
Why then come ruin, anguish or death. 
Being goaded onward by my headlong fate 
I'll clasp thee ! — 

Though there be sugared venom on thy lips 
I'll drink it to the dregs — though there be plagues 
In thy contagious touch— or in thy breath 
Putrid infections — though thou be more cruel 



LAMIA. 69 

Than lean-ribbed tigers — thirsty and open-fanged, 
I will be as fierce a monster for thy sake, 
And grapple thee. 

LAMIA. 

Would Ljcius were here ! 

MERCUTIUS. 

Ha I would' st thou have him gashed and torn in strips 
As I would scatter him ? then so say I ^ 
'' Would Lycius were here !" I have oft clenched 
My teech in that very spite. 

LAMIA, 

Thou ruthless devil ! 
To bear him so bloody a will ! — Why then, come hither, 
We are a fit pair. 

[Meectjtitjs embracing her, she stabs Mm in the bach with a small dagger. 

MERCUTIUS (falling). 

thou false witch ! 
Thou hast pricked me to the heart ! Ha ! what a film 
Falls from my eyes ! — or have the righteous gods 
Transformed me to a beast for this ! Thou crawling spite, 
Thou hideous — venomous — ^Dies. 

LAMIA. 

Let the word choke thee ! 
I know what I am. Thou wilful desperate fool 
To charge upon the spikes I — thy death be upon thee ! — 
Why would' st thou have me sting ? Heaven knows I had 

spared thee, 
But for thy menace of a dearer life. 

! Lycius ! Lycius ! 

1 have been both woman and serpent for thy sake — 



70 LAMIA. 

Perchance to be scorned in each : — I have but gored 

This ill-starred man in vain ! — hush, methought he stirred ; 

I'll give him another thrust {stabs the body) ; there — lie 

thou quiet. 
What a frown he hath upon his face ! May the gods ne'er 

mention it 
In their thunders, nor set the red stain of his blood 
For a sign of wrath in the sky ! — thou poor wretch ! 
Not thee, dull clod ! — but for myself I weep — 
The sport of malicious destinies ! 
Why was I heiress of these mortal gifts 
Perishing all whether I love or hate ? 

Nay, come out of sight ito the udy. 
With thy dismal puckering look — 'twill fright the world 

Out of its happmeSS. IShe drags the tody aside, and covers it with drapery. 

Would I could throw 
A thicker curtain on thee — but I see thee 
All through and through, as though I had 
The eyes of a god within ; alas, I fear 
I am here all human, and have that fierce thing, 
They call a conscience ! lEiyit. 



THE EPPING HUNT. 



ADVERTISEMENT. 



Striding in the Steps of Strutt — the historian of the old Enghsh 
Sports — the author of the following pages has endeavored to record 
a yearly revel, already fast hastening to decay. The Easter Chase will 
soon be numbered with the pastimes of past times : its dogs will have 
had their day, and its Deer will be Fallow.- A few more seasons, 
and this City Common Hunt will become uncommon. 

In proof of this melancholy decadence, the ensuing epistle is in- 
serted. It was penned by an underling at the Wells, a person more 
accustomed to ridins: than writing:. 



"Ses, 

"About the Hunt. In anser to your Innqueries, their as been a great falling 
off laterally, so much so this year that there was nobody allmost. We did a mear 
nothing provisionally, hardly a Bottle extra, wich is a proof in Pint. In short our 
Hunt may be sad to be in the last Stag of a decline. 

" I am, Sir, 

" With respects from 

"Your humble Servant, 

"Bastholombw Kutt." 



THE EPPING HUNT. 

" On Monday thty began to hunt." — Chevy Chase. 

John Huggins was as bold a man 

As trade did ever know ; 
A warehouse good he had, that stood 

Hard hj the church of Bow. 

There people bought Dutch cheeses round 

And single Glos'ter flat ; 
And English butter in a lump. 

And Irish — in a pat. 

Six days a week beheld him stand, 

His business next his heart, 
At counter, with his apron tied 

About his cotmter-part. 

The seventh, in a sluice-house box 

He took his pipe and pot ; 
On Sundays, for eel-piety^ 

A very noted spot. 

Ah, blest if he had never gone 

Beyond its rural shed ! 
One Easter-tide, some evil guide 

Put Epping in his head ! 
4 



T4 THE EPPING HUJ^T. 

Epping, for butter justly famed, 
And pork in sausage popped ; 

Where, winter time or summer time, 
Pig's flesli is always chojoped. 

But famous more, as annals tell, 
Because of Easter chase ; 

There every year, 'twixt dog and deer, 
There is a gallant race. 

With Monday's sun John Huggins rose, 
And slapped his leather thigh, 

And sang the burden of the sons:, 
'' This day a stag must die.' 



^05 



For all the live-long day before. 

And all the night in bed, 
Like Beckford, he had nourished " Thoughts 

On Hunting" in his head. 

Of horn and morn, and hark and bark, 

And echo's answering sounds. 
All poets' wit hath every writ 

In dog-rel verse of hounds. 

Alas ! there was no warning voice 

To whisper in his ear, 
Thou art a fool in leaving Cheap 

To go and hunt the deer ! 

No thought he had of twisted spine, 

Or broken arms or leai;s ; 
Not chicken-hearted he, although 

'Twas whispered of his eggs ! 



THE EPPING HUNT. T5 

Ride out he would, and hunt he would, 

Nor dreamt of ending ill ; 
Mayhap with Dr. Ridoufs fee. 

And Surgeon Hunter' s bill. 

So he drew on his Sunday boots. 

Of lustre superfine ; 
The liquid black they wore that day 

Was WaiTen-ied to shine. 

His yellow buckskins fitted close, 

As once upon a stag ; 
Thus well equipped, he gayly skipped, 

At once, upon his nag. 

But first to him that held the rein 

A crown he nimbly flung ; 
For holding of the horse? — why, no — 

For holding of his tongue. 

To say the horse was Huggins' own 

Would only be a brag ; 
His neio-hbor Fis; and he went halves, 

Like Centaurs, in a nag. 

And he that da^y had got the gray. 

Unknown to brother cit ; 
The horse he knew would never tell, 

Although it was a til. 

A well-bred horse he Vv-as, I wis, 

As he began to show. 
By quickly " rearing up within 

The way he ought to go." 



76 THE EPPING HUNT. 

But Huggins, like a wary maiij 
Was ne'er from saddle cast ; 

Resolved, by going very slow, 
On sitting very fast. 

And so he jogged to Tot'n'am Cross, 
An ancient town well known, 

Where Edward wept for Eleanor 
In mortar and in stone. 

A royal game of fox and goose, 

To play on such a loss ; 
Wherever she set down her orts^ 

Thereby he put a cross. 

Now Huggins had a crony here, 
That lived beside the way ; 

One that had promised sure to be 
His comrade for the day. 

Whereas the man had changed his mind 
Meanwhile upon the case ! 

And meaning not to hunt at all. 
Had gone to Enfield Chase ! 

For why, his spouse had made him vow 

To let a game alone. 
Where folks that ride a bit of blood 

May break a bit of bone. 

" Now, be his wife a plague for life ! 

A coward sure is he !" 
Then Huggins turned his horse's head, 

And crossed the bridge of Lea. . 



THE EPPING HUNT. 77 

Thence slowly on through Laytonstone, 

Past many a Quaker's box — 
No friends to hunters after deer, 

Though folloAvers of a Fox. 

And many a score behind — before — 

The self-same route inclmed ; 
And minded all to march one way, 

Made one great march of mind. 

Gentle and simple, he and she, 

And swell, and blood, and prig ; 
And some had carts, and some a chaise, 

According to their gig. 

Some long-eared jacks, some knacker's hacks 

(However odd it sounds). 
Let out that day to hunt^ instead 

Of going to the hounds ! 

And some had horses of their own. 

And some were forced to job it : 
And some, while they inclined to Hunt^ 

Betook themselves to Cob-it. 

All sorts of vehicles and vans, 

Bad, middling, and the smart ; 
Here rolled along the gay barouche, 

And there a dirty cart ! 

And lo ! a cart that held a squad 

Of costermonger line ; 
With one poor hack, like Pegasus, 

That slaved for all the Nine ! 



78 THE EPPING HUNT. 

Yet marvel not at any load 
That any horse might drag ; 

When all, that morn, at once were drawn 
Together by a stag. 

Now when they saw John Huggins go 

At such a sober pace ; 
'^^ Hallo !" cried they ; " come, trot away, 

You'll never see the chase !" 

But John, as grave as any judge, 
Made answer quite as blunt ; 

" It will be time enough to trot. 
When I begin to hunt !" 

And so he paced to Woodford Wells, 
Where many a horseman met. 

And letting go the i^eins^ of course, 
Prepared for heavy ivet. 

And lo ! within the crowded door. 

Stood Rounding, jovial elf; 
Here shall the Muse frame no excuse, 

But frame the man himself. 

A snow-white head, a merry eye, 

A cheek of jolly blush ; 
A claret tint laid on by health, 

With master reynard's brush ; 

A hearty frame, a courteous bow, 
The prince he learned it from ; 

His age about three- score and ten, 
And there you have Old Tom. 



THE EPPING HUNT. 79 

In merriest key I trow was he, 

So man J guests to boast ; 
So certain congregations meet, 

And elevate the host. 

"Now welcome, lads," quoth he, " and prads, 
You're all in glorious luck : 
Old Robin has a run to-day, 
A noted forest buck. 

Fair Mead's the place, where Bob and Tom, 

In red already ride ; 
'Tis but a step^ and on a horse, 

You soon may go a strideP 

So off they scampered, man and horse, 

As time and temper pressed — 
But Huggins, hitching on a tree. 

Branched off from all the rest. 

Howbeit he tumbled down in time 

To join with Tom and Bob, 
All in Fair Mead, which held that day 

Its own fair meed of mob. 

Idlers to wit — no Guardians some, 

Of Tattlers in a squeeze ; 
Ramblers in heavy carts and vans. 

Spectators, up in trees. 

Butchers on backs of butchers' hacks, 

That shambled to and fro ! 
Bakers intent upon a buck. 

Neglectful of the dough ! 



80 THE EPPINa HUNT. 

Change Alley bears to speculate, 

As usual, for a fall ; 
And green and scarlet runners, such 

As never climbed a wall ! 

'Twas strange to think what difference 

A single creature made ; 
A single stag had caused a whole 

^S'^a^nation in their trade. 

Now Huggins from his saddle rose. 
And in the stirrups stood ; 

And lo ! a little cart that came 
Hard bj a little wood. 

In shape like half a hearse — though not 

For corpses in the least ; 
For this contained the deer alive, 

And not the dear deceased ! 

And now began a sudden stir. 
And then a sudden shout, 

The prison doors were opened wide. 
And Robin bounded out ! 

His antlered head shone blue and red, 
Bedecked with ribbons fine; 

Like other bucks that comes to 'list 
The hawbucks in the line. 

One curious gaze of mild amaze, 
He turned and shortly took : 

Then gently ran adown the mead, 
And bounded o'er the brook. 



THE EPPING HUNT. 81 

Now Hugging, standing far aloof, 

Ha.d never seen the deer, 
Till all at once he saw the beast 

Come charging in his rear. 

Away he went, and many a score 

Of riders did the same. 
On horse and ass — like high and low 

And Jack pursuing game ! 

Good lord ! to see the riders now, 

Thrown off with sudden whirl, 
A score within the purling brook, 

Enjoyed their "early purl." 

A score were sprawling on the grass, 

And beavers fell in showers ; 
There was another Floorer there, 

Beside the Queen of Flowers ! 

Some lost their stirrups, some their whips. 

Some had no caps to show ; 
But few, like Charles at Charing Cross, 

Rode on in Statue quo. 

" dear ! dear !" now might you hear, 

''I've surely broke a bone ;" 
^' My head is sore" — with many more 

Such speeches from the thrown. 

Howbeit their waiiinsis never moved 

The wide Satanic clan. 
Who grinned, as once the Devil grinned, 

To see the fall of Man, 



82 THE EPPING HUNT. 

And hunters good, that understood. 
Their laughter knew no bounds, 

To see the horses " thro whig off," 
So long before the hounds. 

For deer must have due course of law, 
Like men the Courts among ; 

Before those Barristers the dogs 
Proceed to '' giving tongue." 

But now Old Robin's foes were set 

That fatal taint to find, 
That always is scent after him. 

Yet always left behind. 

And here observe how dog and man 
A different temper shows : 

What hound resents that he is sent 
To follow his own nose ? 

Towler and Jowler — howlers all, 
No single tongue was mute ; 

The stag had led a hart, and lo ! 
The whole pack followed suit. 

No spur he lacked ; fear stuck a knife 
And fork in either haunch ; 

And every dog he knew had got 
An eye-tooth to his paunch ! 

Away, away ! he scudded like 

A ship before the gale ; 
Now flew to " hills we know not of," 



Now, nun-like, took the vale. 



THE EPPINa HUNT. 83 

Another squadron charging now. 

Went off at furious pitch ; — 
A perfect Tarn O'Shanter mob. 

Without a single witch. 

Eut who was he with flying skirts, 

A hunter did endorse, 
And, hke a poet, seemed to ride 

Upon a winged horse ? 

A whipper-in ? no whipper-in : 

A huntsman ? no such soul : 
A connoisseur, or amateur ? 

Why, yes — a Horse Patrole. 

A member of police, for whom 

The county found a nag, 
And, like Acteon in the tale, 

He found himself in stag ! 

Away they went, then, dog and deer, 

And hunters all away ; 
The maddest horses never knew 

Mad staggers such as they ! 

Some gave a shout, some rolled about, 

And anticked as they rode ; 
And butchers whistled on their curs. 

And milkmen tally-ho' d ! 

About two score there were, and more, 

That gallopped in the race ; 
The rest, alas ! lay on the grass, 

As once in Chevy Chase ! 



84 THE EPPING HUNT. 

But even those that galiopped on 
\Yere fewer every minute ; 

The field kept getting more select, 
Each thicket served to thin it. 

For some pulled up, and left the hunt, 

Some fell in miry bogs, 
And vainly rose and " ran a muck,'' 

To overtake the dogs. 

And some, in charging hurdle stakes. 
Were left bereft of sense ; 

What else could be premised of blades 
That never learned to fence ? 

But Roundings, Tom and Bob, no gate, 
Kor hedge, nor ditch could stay ; 

O'er all they vrent, and did the work 
Of leap-years in a day ! 

And by their side see Huggins ride. 
As fast as he could speed ; 

For, like Mazeppa, he was quite 
At mercy of his steed. 

No means he had, by timely check, 

The gallop to remit. 
For firm and fast, between his teeth, 

The biter held the bitt. 

Trees raced along, all Essex fled 

Beneath him as he sate ; 
He never saw a county go 

At such a county rate ! 



THE EPPIiSra HUNT. 85 

" Hold hard ! hold hard ! you'll lame the dogs !" 

Quoth Huggins, " so I do; 
I've got the saddle well in hand, 

And hold as hard as jou !" 

Good lord ! to see him ride along, 

And throw his arms about, 
As if with stitches in the side 

That he was drawing out ! 

And now he bounded up and down, 

Now hke a jelly shook ; 
Till bumped and galled— yet not where Gall 

For bumps did ever look ! 

And rowing with his legs the while, 

As tars are apt to ride ; 
With every kick he gave a prick 

Deep in the horse's side ! 

But soon the horse vfas well avenged 

For cruel smart of spurs, 
For, riding through a moor, he pitched 

His master in a furze ! 

Where, sharper set than hunger is, 

He squatted all forlorn ; 
And, like a bird, was singing out 

While sitting on a thorn ! 

Right glad was he, as well might be, 

Such cushion to resign : 
" Possession is nine points," but his 

Seems more than ninety-nine. 



86 THE EPPING HUNT. 

Yet worse than all the prickly points 
That entered in his skin, 

His nag was running off the while 
The thorns were running in ! 

Now had a Papist seen his sport, 
Thus laid upon the shelf, 

Although no horse he had to cross, 
He might have crossed himself. 

Yet surely still the wind is ill 
That none can say is fair ; 

A jolly wight there was, that rode 
Upon a sorry mare ! 

A sorry mare, that surely came 
Of pagan blood and bone ; 

For down upon her knees she went 
To many a stock and stone ! 

Now seeing Huggins' nag adrift, 
This farmer, shrewd and sage, 

Resolved, by changing horses here, 
To hunt another stage ! 

Though felony, yet who would let 

Another's horse alone, 
Whose neck is placed in jeopardy 

By riding on his own ? 

And yet the conduct of the man 
Seemed honest-like and fair ; 

For he seemed willing, horse and all, 
To go before the mare ! 



THE EPPING HUNT. 87 

So up on Huggins horse he got. 

And swiftlj rode away, 
While Huggins' mounted on the mare 

Done brown upon a bay ! 

And off they set in double chase, 

For such was fortune's whim. 
The Farmer rode to hunt the stag. 

And Huggins hunted him ! 

Alas ! with one that rode so well 

In vain it was to strive ; 
A dab was he, as dabs should be — ■ 

All leaping and alive ! 

And here of Nature's kindly care 

Behold a curious proof, 
As nags are meant to leap, she puts 

A frog in every hoof ! 

Whereas the mare, although her share 

She had of hoof and frog. 
On coming to a gate stopped short 

As stiff as any log ; 

While Huggins in the stirrup stood 

With neck like neck of crane. 
As sings the Scottish song — '' to see 

The gate his hart had gane." 

And, lo ! the dim and distant hunt 

Diminished in a trice : 
The steeds, like Cinderella's team, 

Seemed dwindling into mice ; 



88 THE EPPINa HUNT. 

And, far remote, each scarlet coat 
Soon flitted like a spark — 

Though still the forest murmured back 
An echo of the bark ! 

. But sad at soul John Huggins turned : 
No comfort could he find ; 
While thus the '' Hunting Chorus" sped, 
To staj five bars behind. 

For though by dint of spur he got 

A leap in spite of fate — 
Howbeit there was no toll at all, 

They could not clear the gate. 

And, like Fitzjames, he cursed the hunt, 
And sorely cursed the day, 

And mused a new Gray's elegy 
On his departed gray. 

Now many a sign at Woodford town 
Its Inn-vitation tells : 
• But Huggins, full of ills, of course 
Betook him to the Wells, 

Where Rounding tried to cheer him up 
With many a merry laugh : 

But Huggins thought of neighbor Fig, 
And called for half-and-half 

Yet, spite of drink, he could not blink 

Remembrance of his loss ; 
To drown a care like his, required 

Enough to drown a horse. 



THE EPPINa HUNT. 89 

When thus forlorn, a merry horn 

Struck up without the door — 
The mounted mob were all returned ; 

The Epping Hunt was o'er ! 

And many a horse was taken out 

Of saddle, and of shaft ; 
And men, by dint of drink, became 

The only " heasts of draught.'''' 

For now begun a harder run 

On wine, and gin, and beer ; 
And overtaken men discussed 

The overtaken deer. 

How far he ran, and eke how fast, 

And how at bay he stood, 
Deerlike, resolved to sell his life 

As dearly as he could : — 

And how the hunters stood aloof, 

Regardful of their lives. 
And shunned a beast, whose very horns 

They knew could handle knives ! 

How Huggins stood when he was rubbed 

By help and ostler kind. 
And when they cleaned the clay before, 

How worse '' remained behind." 

And one, how he had found a horse 

Adrift — a goodly gray ! 
And kindly rode the nag, for fear 

The nag should go astray ; 



90 THE EPPING HUNT. 

Now Huggins, when lie heard the tale. 
Jumped up with sudden glee ; 

"A goodly gray ! why, then, I say, 
That gray belongs to me ! 

*' Let me endorse again my horse, 
Delivered safe and sound ; 

And, gladly, I will give the man 
A bottle and a pound !" 

The wine was drunk — the money paid, 
Though not without remorse, 

To pay another man so much 
For riding on his horse ; — 

And let the chase again take place 
For many a long, long year — 

John Huggins will not ride again 
To hunt the Epping Deer ! 

MORAL. 

Thus Pleasure oft eludes our grasp 
Just when we think to grip her ] 

And hunting after Happiness, 
We only hunt a slipper. 



ADVERTISEMENT TO THE SECOND EDITION. 



The publisher begs leave to say, that he has had the following let- 
ter from the author of this httle book : — 

Deae SrE, 

" I am much gratified to learn from you, that the Epping Hunt has had such a 
run, that it is quite exhausted, and that you intend therefore to give the work what 
may be called '•'•second wind,'" by a new impression. 

I attended the last Anniversary of the Festival, and am concerned to say that the 
sport does not improve, but appears an ebbing as well as Epping custom. The run was 
miserable indeed ; but what was to be expected ? The chase was a Uoe, and, conse- 
quently, the Hunt set off with the Hind part before. It was, therefore, quite in char- 
acter, for so many Nimrods to start, as they did, before the hounds, but which as you 
know, is quite contrary to the Lex Tallyho-nis, or Laws of Hunting. 

I dined with the Master of the Revel, who is as hale as ever, and promises to reside 
some time in the Wells ere he kicks the bucket. He is an honest, hearty, worthy man, 
and when he dies there will be " a cry of dogs" in his kennel. 

I am, Dear Sir, 
Yours, &c., 

Winchmore Hill, June, 1830. T. HOOD. 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT. 



GUIDO AND MARINA. 

A DRAMATIC SKETCH. 

[G-TTTDO, having given himself up to the pernicious study of magic and astrology, 
casts his nativity, and resolves that at a certain hour of a certain day he is to die. 
Masina, to wean him from this fatal delusion, which hath gradually wasted him 
away, even to the verge of death, advances the hour-hand of the clock. He is sup- 
posed to be seated heside her in the garden of his palace at Venice.] 

Guido. Clasp me again ! My soul is very sad ; 
And hold thy lips in readiness near mine. 
Lest I die suddenly. Clasp me again ! 
'Tis such a gloomy day ! 

Mar. Nay, sweet, it shines. 

Guido. Nay, then, these mortal clouds are in mine eyes. 
Clasp me again ! — ay, with thy fondest force, 
Give me one last embrace. 

Mar. Love, I do clasp thee ! 

Guido. Then closer — closer — for I feel thee not ; 
Unless thou art this pain around my heart. 
Thy lips at such a time should never leave me. 

Mar. What pain — what time, love ? Art thou ill ? Alas ! 
I see it in thy cheek. Come, let me nurse thee. 
Here, rest upon my heart. 

Guido. Stay, stay, Marina. 

Look ! — when I raise my hand against the sun, 
Is it red with blood ? 

Mar. Alas ! my love, what wilt thou ? 



96 GUIDO AXD MARINA. 

Thy hand is red — and so is mine — all hands . 
Show thus against the sun. 

Giiido. All living men's, 

Marina, but not mine. Hast never heard 
How death first seizes on the feet and hands, 
And thence goes freezing to the verj heart? 

Mar. Yea, love I know it ; but what then ? — the hand 
I hold, is glowing. 

Gnido. But my eyes ! — my eyes ! — 

Look ihere^ Marina — there is death's own sign. 
I have seen a corpse. 

E'en when its clay was cold, would still have seemed 
Alive, but for the eyes — such deadly eyes ! 
So dull and dim ! Marina, look in mine ! 

Mar. Ay, they are dull. No, no — not dull, but bright : 
I see myself within them. Now, dear love, 
Discard these horrid fears that make me weep. 

Guido. Marina, Marina — where thy image lies, 
There must be brightness — or perchance they glance 
And glimmer like the lamp before it dies. 
Oh, do not vex my soul with hopes impossible ! 
My hours are ending. iciock strikes. 

Mar. Nay, they shall not ! Hark ! 

The hour — four — five — hark ! — six ! — the very time ! 
And, lo ! thou art alive I My love — dear love — 
Now cast this cruel phantasm from thy brain — 
This wilful, wild delusion — cast it off! 
The hour is come — and (/one ! What ! not a word ! 
What, not a smile, even, that thou livest for me ! 
Come, laugh and clap your hands as I do — come. 
Or kneel with me, and thank th' eternal God 
For this blest passover ! Still sad ! still mute ! — 
Oh, why art thou not glad, as I am glad, ! 



GUIDO AND MARINA. 97 

That death forbears thee ? Nay, hath all my love 
Been spent in vam, that thou art sick of life ? 

Guido. Marina, I am no more attached to death 
Than Fate hath doomed me. I am his elect, 
That even now forestalls thy little light, 
And steals with cold infringement on my breath : 
Already he bedims my spiritual lamp, 
Not yet his due — not yet — quite yet, though Time, 
Perchance, to warn me, speaks before his wont : 
Some minutes' space my blood has still to flow- 
Some scanty breath is left me still to spend 
In very bitter sighs. 

But there's a point, true measured by my pulse, 
Beyond or short of which it may not live 
By one poor throb. Marina, it is near. 

Mai\ Oh, God of heaven ! 

Guido. Ay, it is very near. 

Therefore, cling now to me, and say farewell 
While I can answer it. Marina, speak ! 
Why tear thine helpless hair ? it will not save 
Thy heart from breaking, nor pluck out the thought 
That stings thy brain. Oh, surely thou hast known 
This truth too long to look so like Despair ? 

Mar. 0, no, no, no ! — a hope — a little hope — 
I had erewhile — but I have heard its knell. 
Oh, would my life were measured out with thine — 
All my years numbered — all my days, my hours, 
My utmost minutes, all summed up with thine ! 

Guido. Marina — 

Mar. Let me weep — no, let me kneel 

To God — but rather thee — to spare this end 
That is so wilful. Oh, for pity's sake ! 
Pluck back thy precious spirit from these clouds 

5 



98 GUIDO AND MARINA. 

That smother it with death. Oh ! turn from death, 
And do not woo it with such dark resolve, 
To make me widowed. 

Guido. I have lived my term. 

Mar. No — not thy term — not the natural term 
Of one so young. Oh ! thou hast spent thy years 
In sinful waste upon unholy — 

Guido. Hush ! 

Marina. 

Mar. N'ay, I must. Oh ! cursed lore, 
That hath supplied this spell against thy life. 
Unholy learning — devilish and dark — 
Study ! — God ! God ! — how can thy stars 
Be bright with such black knowledge ? Oh, that men 
Should ask more light of them than guides their steps 
At evening to love ! 

Guido. Hush, hush, oh hush ! 

Thy words have pained me in the midst of pain. 
True, if I had not read, I should not die; 
For, if I had not read, I had not been. 
All our acts of life are pre-ordained. 
And each pre-acted, in our several spheres, 
By ghostly duplicates. They sway our deeds 
By their performance. What if mine hath been 
To be a prophet and foreknow my doom ? 
If I had closed my eyes, the thunder then 
Had roared it in my ears ; my own mute brain 
Had told it with a tongue. What must be, must. 
Therefore I knew when my full time would fall j 
And now — to save thy widowhood of tears — 
To spare the very breaking of thy heart, 
I may not gain even a brief hour's reprieve ! 
What seest thou yonder ? 



GUIDO AND MARINA. 99 

Mar. Where ? — a tree — the sun 

Sinking behind a tree. 

Guido. It is no tree, 

Marina, but a shape — the awful shape 
That comes to claim me. Seest thou not his shade 
Darken before his steps ? Ah me ! how cold 
It comes against my feet ! Cold, icy cold ! 
And blacker than a pall. 

Mar. My love ! 

Guido. Oh, heaven 

And earth, where are ye ? Marina — [Gttido dies. 

Mar. I am here ! 

What wilt thou? dost thou speak ? — Methought I heard thee 
Just whispering. He is dead ! — God ! he's dead ! 



FAEEWELL TO THE SWALLOWS. 



Swallows, sitting on the eaves, 
See je not the falling leaves ? 
See ye not the gathered sheaves ? 

Farewell ! 
Is it not time to go 
To that fair land ye know ? 
The breezes, as they swell, 
Of coming winter tell. 
And from the trees shake down 
The brown 
And withered leaves. Farewell 1 

Swallows, it is time to fly ; 
See ye not the altered sky ? 
Know ye not that winter's nigh? 

Farewell ! 
Go, fly in noisy bands, 
To those far distant lands 
Of gold, and pearl, and shell, 
And gem (of which they tell 
In books of travel strange), 
And range 
In happiness. Farewell ! 



FAREWELL TO THE SWALLOWS. 101 

Swallows, on jour pinions glide 
O'er the restless, rolling tide 
Of the ocean deep and wide. 

Farewell ! 
In groves, far, far awaj, 
In summer's sunny ray, 
In warmer regions dwell ; 
And then return to tell 
Strange tales of foreign lands ; 
In bands, 
Perched on the eaves ! Farewell ! 

Swallows, I could almost pray 
That I, like you, might fly away ; 
And to each coming evil say 

Farewell ! 
Yet, 'tis my fate to live 
Here, and with troubles strive; 
And I some day may tell 
How they before me fell, 
Conquered ; then calmly die, 
And cry — 
" Trials and toils, farewell !" 



STANZAS TO TOM WOODGATE, 

OF HASTINGS. 



Tom ! — are you still within this land 
Of livers — still on Hastings' sand. 

Or roaming on the waves ; 
Or has some billow o'er you rolled, 
Jealous that earth should lap so bold 

A seaman in her graves ? 



On land the rush-light lives of men 
Go out but slowly ; nine in ten. 

By tedious long decline — ■ 
Not so the jolly sailor sinks, 
Who founders in the wave, and drinks 

The apoplectic brine ! 

Ay, while I write, mayhap your head 
Is sleeping on an oyster-bed — 

I hope 'tis far from truth ! — - 
With periwinkle eyes ; — your bone 
Beset with mussels, not your own, 

And corals at your tooth ! 



STANZAS TO TOM WOODGATE. 103 

Still does the Chance pursue the chance 
The main affords — the Aidant dance 

In safety on the tide ? 
Still flies that sign of my good-will 
A little hunting thing — but still 

To thee a flag of pride ? 

Does that hard, honest hand now clasp 
The tiller in its careful grasp — 

With every summer breeze 
When ladies sail, in lady-fear — 
Or, tug the oar, a gondolier 

On smooth Macadam seas ? 

Or are you where the flounders keep, 
Some dozen briny fathoms deep, 

Where sand and shells abound — 
With some old Triton on your chest, 
And twelve grave mermen for a 'quest, 

To find that you are — drowned ? 

Swift is the wave, and apt to bring 
A sudden doom — perchance I sing 

A mere funereal strain ; 
You have endured the utter strife — 
And are — the same in death or life, 

A good man in the main ! 

Oh, no — I hope the old brown eye 
Still watches ebb, and flood, and sky ; 

That still the old brown shoes 
Are sucking brine up — pumps indeed ! 
Your tooth still full of ocean weed, 

Or Indian — which you choose. 



104 STANZAS TO TOM WOODGATE. 

I like you, Tom ! and in these lays 
Give honest worth its honest praise, 

No puff at honor's cost; 
For though you met these words of mine, 
All letter-learning was a line 

You, somehow, never crossed ! 

Mayhap we ne'er shall meet again, 
Except on that Pacific main, 

Beyond this planet's brink ; 
Yet as we erst have braved the weather, 
Still may we float awhile together. 

As comrades on this ink ! 

Many a scudding gale we've had 
Together, and, my gallant lad. 

Some perils we have passed ; 
When huge and black the wave careeredj 
And oft the giant surge appeared 

The master of our mast : — 

'Twas thy example taught me how 
To climb the billow's hoary brow, 

Or cleave the raging heap — 
To bound along the ocean wild, 
With danger only as a child. 

The waters rocked to sleep. 

Oh, who can tell that brave delight, 
To see the hissing wave in might. 

Come rampant like a snake ! 
To leap his horrid crest, and feast 
One's eyes upon the briny beast. 

Left couchant in the wake ! 



STANZAS TO TOM WOODGATE. 105 

The simple shepherd's love is still 
To bask upon a sunnj hill, 

The herdsman roams the vale — 
With both their fancies I ao;ree : 
Be mine the swelling, scooping sea, 

That is both hill and dale ! 

I yearn for that brisk spray — I yearn 
To feel the wave from stem to stern 

Uplift the plunging keel; 
That merry step we used to dance 
On board the Aidant or the Chance, 

The ocean ^ toe and heel' 

I long to feel the steady gale 

That fills the broad distended sail — 

The seas on either hand ! 
My thought, like any hollow shell, 
Keeps mocking at my ear the swell 

Of waves against the land. 

It is no fable — that old strain 
Of syrens ! — so the witching main 

Is singing — and I sigh ! 
My heart is all at once inclined 
To seaward — and I seem to find 

The waters in my eye ! 

Methinks I see the shining beach ; 
The merry waves, each after each. 

Rebounding o'er the flints ; 
I spy the grim preventive spy ! 
The jolly boatmen standing nigh ! 

The maids in mornino: chintz ! 
5^- 



106 STANZAS TO TOM WOODGATE. 

And there they float — the sailing craft ! 
The sail is up — the wind abaft — 

The ballast trim and neat. 
Alas ! 'tis all a dream — a lie ! 
A printer's imp is standing by, 

To haul my mizzen sheet ! 

My tiller dwindles to a pen — 
My craft is that of bookish men — 

My sale — let Longman tell ! 
Adieu, the wave, the wind, the spray ! 
Men — ^maidens — chintzes — fade away ! 

Tom Woodgate, fare thee well ! 



MORE 



ODES AN I) ADBRESSE 



TO 



GllEAT PEOPLE. 



ODES 



ODE TO N. A. VIGORS, ESQ. 



ON THE PUBLICATION OF " THE GARDENS AND MENAGERIE OP THE 
ZOOLOGICAL SOCIETY.' 



?? 



" Give you good den." — Shakespeaee. 

So Mr. v., — no Vigors — I beg pardon — 

You've published your Zoological Garden ! 
A book of which I've heard a deal of talk, 

And your Menagerie — indeed^ 'tis bad o' me, 
But I have never seen your Beast Academy ! 
Or set my feet 
In Brute-on street, 
Or ever wandered in your '' Bird-cage Walk." 

Yet, I believe that you were truly born 

To be a kind of brutal overseer, 

And, like the royal quarterings, appear 

Between a lion and a unicorn : 

There is a sort of reason about rhyme 

That I have pondered many, many a time ; 

Where words, like birds of feather, 

Likely to come together, 
Are quite prophetically made to chime ; 



110 ODE TO N. A, VIGORS, ESQ. 

So your own office is forestalled^ Vigors ! 
Your proper Sirname having but one single 
Appropriate jingle, 

Tigers ! 



Where is your gardening volume ! like old Mawe's ! 
Containing rules for cultivating brutes, 

Like fruits, 

Through April, May, or June, 
As thus — now rake your Lions' manes, and prune 

Your Tigers' claws ; 
About the middle of the month, if fair, 
Give your Chameleons air ; 

Choose shady walls for Owls, 

Water your Fowls, 
And plant your Leopards in the sunniest spots ; 
Earth up your Beavers ; train your Bears to climb ; 
Thin out your Elephants about this time ; 
And set some early Kangaroos in pots. 

Li some warm sheltered place, 

Prepare a hot-bed for the Boa race, 
Leaving them room to swell ; 
Prick out your Porcupines ; and blanch your Ermine ; 
Stick up Opossums ; trim your Monkeys well ; 

And " destroy all vermin." 



Oh, tell me, Mr. Vigors I for the fleas 
Of curiosity begin to tease — 
If they bite rudely I must crave your pardon, 
But if a man may ask, 
What is the task 
You have to do in this exotic garden ? . 



ODE TO N. A. VIGORS, ESQ. Ill 

If from your title one may guess your ends, 

You are a sort of Secretary Bird 

To write home word 

From io-norant brute-beasts to absent friends. 

Does ever tbe poor little Coatamondi 

Beg you to write to ma' 

To ask papa 
To send him a new suit to Y,^ear on Sunday? 
Does Mrs. L. request you'll be so good 
— Acting a sort of Urban to Sylvanus — 
As write to her '' tvw children in the wood," 
Addressed — post-paid— to Leo Africanus? 
Does ever the grea.t Sea-Bear Londinensis 

Make you amanuensis 
To send out news to some old Arctic stager — 
*'Pray write, that Brother Bruin on the whole 

Has got a head on this day's pole, 
And say my Ursa has been made a Major?" 
Do you not write dejected letters — very — 
Describing England for poor ''Happy Jerry," 
Unlike those emigrants who take in flats, 
Throwing out New South Wales for catching sprats ? 
Of course your penmanship you ne'er refuse 
For '' begging letters" from poor Kangaroos ; 
Of course you manage bills, and their acquittance, 
And sometimes pen for Pelican a double 
Letter to Mrs. P., and brood in trouble, 
Enclosino; a small dab, as a remittance ; 
Or send from Mrs. B. to her old cadger, 
Her full-length, done by Harvey, that rare draughtsman, 

And skillful craftsman, 
A game one too, for he can draw a Badger. 



112 ODE TO N. A. VIGOKS, ESQ. 

Does Doctor Bennett never come and trouble you 

To break the death of Wolf to Mrs. W. ? 

To say poor Buffalo his last has puffed, 

And died quite suddenly, -without a will, 

Soothing the widow with a tender quill, 

And gently hinting — " would she like him stuffed?" 

Does no old sentimental Monkey weary 

Your hand at times to vent his scribbling itch ? 

And then your pen must answer to the query 

Of Dame Giraffe, who has been told her deary 

Died on the spot — and wishes to know which? 

New candidates meanwhile your help are waiting— 

To fill up cards of thanks, with due refinement, 

For Missis 'Possum, after her confinement; 

To pen a note of pretty Poll's dictating — ■ 

Or write how Charles the Tenth's departed reign 

Disquiets the crowned Crane, 

And all the royal Tigers ; 

To send a bulletin to brother Asses 

Of Zebra's health, what sort of night he passes ; — 

Is this your duty. Secretary Vigors ? 

Or are your brutes but Garden-brutes indeed, 

Of the old shrubby breed, 
Dragons of holly — Peacocks cut in yew ? 

But no — I've seen your book, 
And all the creatures look 
Like real creatures, natural and true ! 
Ready to prowl, to growl, to prey, to fight. 
Thanks be to Harvey who their portraits drew, 
And to the cutters praise is justly due. 
To Branston always, and to always Wright. 
Go on then, publishing your Monthly parts, 



ODE TO JOSEPH HUME, ESQ. < 113 

And let the wealthy crowd, 

The noble and the proud, 
Learn of brute beasts to patronise the Arts. 
So may your Household flourish in the Park, 
And no long Boa go to his long home, 
No Antelope give up the vital spark, 
But all, with this your scientific tome. 
Go on as swimmingly as old Noah's Ark ! 



ODE TO JOSEPH HUME, ESQ., M. P.2 

"I lisped in numbers, for the numbers came." 

Oh, Mr. Hume, thy name 
Is travelling post upon the road to fame, 
With four fast horses and two sharp postillions ; 
Thy reputation 
Has friends by numeration, 
Units, Tens, Hundreds, Thousands, Millions. 
Whenever public men together dine, 
They drink to thee 
With three times three — 
That's nine. 
And oft a votary proposes then 
To add unto the cheering one cheer more — 

Nine and One are Ten ; 
Or somebody for thy honor still more keen, 
Insists on four times four — 
Sixteen 1 

In Parliament no star shines more or bigger, 
And yet thou dost not care to cut a figure ; 
Equally art thou eloquent and able. 
Whether in showing how to serve the nation 



114 'ode to JOSEPH HUME, ESQ. 

Or laying its petitions on the Table 
Of Multiplication. 
In motion thou art second unto none, 
Though Fortune on thy motions seems to frown, 
For though you set a number down 

You seldom carry one. 
Great at a speech thou art, though some folks cough. 
But thou art greatest at a paring off. 

But never blench, 
Although in stirring up corruption's worms 
You make some factions 
Vulgar as certain fractions, 
Almost reduced unto their lowest terms. 
Go on, reform, diminish, and retrench ; 

Go on, for ridicule not caring ; 
Sift on from one to nine with all their noughts, 
And make state cyphers eat up their own aughts, 
And only in thy saving be unsparing ; 
At soldiers' uniforms make awful rackets, 
Don't trim though, but untrim their jackets. 
Allow the tin mines no tin tax. 
Cut off the Great Seal's wax ; 
Dock all the dock-yards, lower masts and sails. 
Search foot by foot the Infantry's amounts, 
Look into all the Cavalry's accounts, 
And crop their horses' tails. 
Look well to Woolwich and each money vote, 
Examine all the cannons' charges well. 

And those who found th' Artillery compel 
To forge twelve pounders for a five pound note. 
Watch Sandhurst too, its debts and its Cadets — 
Those Military pets. 



ODE TO JOSEPH IIUMEj ESQ. 115 

Take Army — no, take Leggy Tailors 
Down to the Fleet, for no one but a nincum 
Out of our na.tion's narrow income 

Would furnish such wide trowsers to the Sailors. 

Next take, to wonder him, 
The Master of the Horse's horse from under him ; 
Retrench from those who tend on Royal ills 

Wherewith to gild their pills. 
And tell the Stag-hound's Master he must keep 

The deer, &c., cheap. 

Close as new brooms 
Scrub the Bed Chamber Grooms ; 
Abridge the Master of the Ceremonies 

Of his very moneys ; 
In short, at every salary have a pull, 

And when folks come for pay 
On quarter-day, 
Stop half, and make them give receipts in full. 

Oh, Mr. Hume, don't drink, 

Or eat, or sleep, a wink. 
Till you have argued over each reduction : 
Let it be food to you, repose and suction ; 

Though you should make more motions by one half 
Than any telegraph. 
Item by item all these things enforce, 
Be on your legs till lame, and talk till hoarse ; 
Have lozenges — mind, Dawson's — dn your pocket, 
And swing your arms till aching in their socket ; 

Or if awake you cannot keep. 
Talk of retrenchment in your sleep ; 
Expose each Peachum, and show up each Lockit — 



116 ODE TO SPENCER PERCIVAL, ESQ. 

Go down to the M.P.'s before jou sup, 
And while they're sitting blow them up, 
As Guy Fawkes could not do with all his nous ; 
But now we live in different Novembers, 
And safely you may walk into the House, 
First split its ears, and then divide its members ! 



ODE TO SPENCER PERCIYAL, ESQ., M.P.^ 

Oh Mr. Spencer ! — 
I mean no offence, sir — 
Retrencher of each trencher, man or woman's ; 
Maker of days of ember, 
^ Eloquent member 
Of the House of Com — I mean to say short commons- 
Thoii Long Tom Coffin singing out, ''Hold Fast" — 
Avast ! 
Oh, Mr. Percival, I'll bet a dollar, a 
Great growth of cholera. 

And new deaths reckoned. 
Will mark thy Lenten twenty-first and second. 

The best of physicians, when they con it. 
Depose the malady is in the air : 
Oh, Mr. Spencer — if the ill is there — 

Why should you bid the peoj)le live upon it ? 

Why should you make discourses against courses ; 
While Doctors, though they bid us rub and chafe, 

Declare, of all resources, 
The man is safest who gets in the safe ? 
And yet you bid poor suicidal sinners 

Discard their dinners, 



ODE TO ADMIRAL GAMBIEE. 117 

Thoughtless how Heaven above will look upon't, 
For men to die so wantonly of want ! 

By way of variety, 
Think of the ineffectual piety 
Of London's Bishop, at St. Faith's or Bride's, 
Lecturing such chameleon insides, 
Only to find 
He's preaching to the wind. 
Whatever others do or don't, 
I cannot — dare not — must not fast and won't, 
Unless by night your day you let me keep, 

And fast asleep ; 
My constitution can't obey such censors ; 
I must have meat 
Three times a day to eat, 
My health's of such a sort — 
To say the truth in short — 
The coats of my stomach are not Spencers ! 



ODE TO ADMIRAL GAMBIER, G.C.B.^ 

"Well, if you reclaim such as Hood, your Society will deserve the thauks of the 
country." — Temperance Society's Heeald, vol. i., No. 1, p. S. 

" My father, when last I from Guinea 

Came home with abundance of wealth. 
Said, ' Jack, never be such a ninny 
As to drink — ' says I, ' Father, your health ? ' " 

NOTUIKG LIIvE GEOG. 

Oh ! Gam — I dare not mention hier 

Li such a temperate ear — 
Oh ! Admiral Gam — an admiral of the Blue, 
Of course to read the Navy List aright, 



118 ODE TO ADMIEAL GAMBIER. 

For strictly shunning wine of either hue, 
You can't be Admiral of the Red or White : — 
Oh, Admiral Gam ! consider ere you call 
On merry Englishmen to wash their throttles 
With water only ; and to break their bottles 
To stick, for fear of trespass, on the wall 
Of Exeter Hall ! 

Consider, I beseech, the contrariety 

Of cutting off our brandy, gin, and rum. 

And then, hj tracts, inviting us to come 

And " ?niT in your society !" 
In giving rules to dine, or sup, or lunch, 
Consider Nature's ends before you league us 
To strip the Isle of Rum of all its punch — 
To dock the Isle of Mull of all its negus — 
Or doom — to suit your milk and water view — 
The Isle of Sky to nothing but sky-blue ! 

Consider — for appearance' sake — consider 
The sorry figure of a spirit-ridder, 
Going on this crusade against the suttler ; 
- A sort of Hu.dibras — without a Butler ! 

Consider — ere you break the ardent spirits 
Of father, mother, brother, sister, daughter ; 
What are your beverage's washy merits ? 
Gin may be low — but I have known low- water I 

Consider well, before you thus deliver, 
With such authority, your sloppy cannon ; 
Should British tars taste nothing but the riverj 
Because the Chesapeake once fought the Shatifion ! 



ODE TO ADMIRAL GAMBIER. 119 

Consider too — before all Eau-de-vie, 
Schiedam, or other drinkers, you rebut — 
To bite a bitten dog all curs agree ; 
But who would cut a man because he's cut ? 

Consider — ere you bid the poor to fill 
Their murmuring stomach with the " murmuring rill" — 
Consider that their streams are not like ours, 
Reflecting heaven, and margined by sweet flowers ; 
On their dark pools by day no sun reclines, 
!By night no Jupiter, no Yenus shines ; 
Consider life's sour taste, that bids them mix 
Rum with Acheron, or gin with Styx ; 
If you must pour out water to the poor, oh 1 
Let it be aqua cToro ! 

Consider — ere as furious as a griffin, 
Against a glass of grog you make such work, 

A man may like a stifi''un, 

And yet not be a Burke ! 

Consider, too, before you bid all skinkers 

Turn water-drinkers. 
What sort of fluid fills their native rivers ; 
Their Mudiboos, and Niles, and Guadalquivers. 
How should you like, yourself, in glass or mug, 

The Bog — the Bug — 
The Maine — the Weser — or that freezer, Neva ? 
Nay, take the very rill of classic ground — 

Lord Byron found 
E'en Castaly the better for Geneva. 

Consider— if to vote Reform's arrears. 

His Majesty should please to make you peers, 



120 ODE TO SIR ANDREW AGNEW, BART. 

Your titles would be very far from trumps, 
To figure in a book of blue and red : — • 
The Duke of Draw-well — what a name to dread ! 
Marquis of Main-pipe ! Earl New-River-Head ! 
And Temperance's chief, the Prince of Pumps ! 



ODE TO SIR ANDREW AGNEW, BART.^ 

" At certain seasons he makes a prodigious clattering with his bill."— Selbt. 
"The bill is rather long, flat, and tinged with green."— Bewick. 

Andrew Fairservice — ^but I beg pardon, 
You never labored in Di Yernon's garden, 
On curly kale and cabbages intent — 
Andrew Churchservice was the thing I meant : 
You are a Christian — I would be the same, 
Although we differ, and Til tell you why, 
Not meaning to make game, 

1 do not like my Church so very High ! 

When people talk, as talk they will, 

About your bill. 
They say, among their other jibes and small jeers, 
^ That, if you had your way. 
You'd make the seventh day 
As overbearing as the Dey of Algiers. 
Talk of converting Blacks — 

By your attacks, 
You make a thing so horrible of one day, 
Each nigger, they will bet a something tidy, 
"Would rather be a heathenish Man Friday, 

Than your Man Sunday ! 



ODE TO SIR ANDREW AGNEW, BART. 121 



So poor men speak, 

Who, once a week, 
Perhaps, after weaving artificial flowers. 
Can snatch a glance of Nature's kinder bowers, 

And revel in a bloom 

That is not of the loom, 



'J 



Making the earth, the streams, the skies, the trees, 
A Chapel of Ease. * 

Whereas, as you would plan it. 
Walled in with hard Scotch granite. 
People all day should look to their behaviors ; — 
But though there be, as Shakspeare owns, 

" Sermons in stones," 
Zounds ! would you have us work at them like paviors ? 

Spontaneous is pure devotion's fire ; 

And in a green wood many a soul has built 

A new Church, with a fir-tree for its spire, 

Where Sin has prayed for peace, and wept for guilt, 

Better than if an architect the plan drew ; 

We know of old how medicines were backed, 

But true Religion needs not to be quacked 

By an Un-merry Andrew ! • 

Suppose a poor town-weary sallow elf 
At Primrose-hill Avould renovate himself. 

Or drink (and no great harm) 
Milk genuine at Chalk Farm ; 
The innocent intention who would baulk. 
And drive him back into St. Bennet Fink ? 
For my part, for my life, I cannot think 
A walk on Sunday is " the Devil's Walk." 

6 



122 ODE TO SIR ANDREW AGNEW, BART. 

But there's a sect of Deists, and their creed 
Is D — ing other people to be d — d ; 
Yea, all that are not of their saintly level, 
Thej make a pious point 
To send, with an " aroint," 
Down to that great Fillhellenist, the Devil. 
To such, a ramble by the River Lea, 
♦ Is really treading on the '' Banks of D — ." 

Go down to Margate, wisest of law-makers, 
And say unto the sea, as Canute did 

(Of course the sea will do as it is bid), 
" This is the Sabbath — let there be no breakers !" 
Seek London's Bishop, on some Sunday morn, 
And try him with your tenets to inoculate ; 
Abuse his fine souchong, and say in scorn, 
" This is not Churchman^ s chocolate !" 

Or, seek Dissenters at their mid-day meal, 

And read them from your Sabbath Bill some passages, 

And while they eat their mutton, beef, and veal, 

Shout out with holy zeal — 
'' These are not ChappeVs sausages !" 
Suppose your Act should act up to your will. 
Yet how will it appear to Mrs. Grundy, 
To hear you saying of this pious bill, 

'' It ID Oleics well — on a Sunday !" 

To knock down apple-stalls is now too late. 
Except to starve some poor old harmless madam ; — 
You might have done some good, and changed our fate, 
Could you have upset that^ which ruined Adam ! 



ODE TO SIR ANDREW AGNEW, BART. 123 

'Tis useless to prescribe salt-cod and eggs, 
Or lay post-horses under legal fetters, 
While Tattersairs on Sunday stirs its Legs^ 
Folks look for good examples from their Betters ! 

Consider — Acts of Parliament may bind 

A man to go where Irvings are discoursing ; 

But as for forcing " proper frames of mind," 

Minds are not fraraed^ like melons, for such forcing I 

Kemember, as a Scottish legislator. 
The Scotch Kirk always has a Moderator ; 
Meaning, one need not ever be sojourning 
In a long Sermon Lane without a turning. 
Such grave old maids as Portia and Zenobia. 
May like discourses with a skein of threads, 
And love a lecture for its many heads ; 
But as for me, I have the Hydra-phobia. 

Reliorion one should never overdo : 

Right glad I am no minister you be, 

For you would say your service, sir, to me. 

Till I should say, " My service, sir, to you." 

Six days made all that is, you know, and then 

Came that of rest, by holy ordination, 

As if to hint unto the sons of men, 

After creation should come re-creation. 

Bead right this text, and do not further search 

To make a Sunday Workhouse of the Church. 



124 ODE TO J. S. BUCKINGHAMj ESQ. 

ODE TO J. S. BUCKINGHAM, ESQ., M. P.,« 

ON THE REPORT OF THE COMMITTEE ON DRUNKENNESS. 

" Steady, boys, steady." — Sea Song. 

" Then did they fall upon the chat of drinking ; and forthwith began Flaggons to 
go, Goblets to fly, great Bowls to ting. Glasses to ring, draw, reach, fill, mix, give it 
me without water ; so, my Friend, so ; whip me o£f this Glass neatly, bring me hither 
some Claret, a full weeping Glass till it run over !" — Rabelais. 

" Now, seeing that every Vessel was empty, great and small, with not so much at 
the Bottom as would half befuddle or muddle even a Fly, such as are the Flies of 
Baieux, I say, seeing this lamentable sight, Gargantua leapt up on one of the Tables, 
and with Tears in his Eyes as big as Cannon Bullets, did pathetically beseech Panta- 
gruel, as well as he could for the Hiccups and the Drinking Cups, and all sorts of 
Cups, as he valued his precious Body and Soul, one or both, never to drink more than 
became a reasonable Man, and not a Hog and a Beast. And the Stint of a reasonably 
reasonable Man is thus much, to wit, seven Thousand three Hundred and fifty-three 
Hogsheads, twice as many Kilderkins, thrice as many little Kegs, and as many Flag- 
gons, Bottles, and Tankards as you will, beside. A Christian ought not to drink 
more. As Gargantua said these Words his Voice grew thick, his Tongue being as it 
were too huge for his Mouth ; and on a sudden he turned dog-sick, and fell off the 
Table a prodigious Fall, whereby there was a horrible Earthquake, from Paris even 
unto Turkey in Asia, as is remembered unto this day." — Rabelais. 

0, Mr. Buckingham, if I may take 

The liberty with you and your Committee, 

Some observations I intend to make, 

I hope will prove both pertinent and pretty : 

On Drunkenness you've held a special court, 

But is consistency, I ask, your 'forte, 

When after (I must say) much Temperance swaggering, 

You issue a Report 

That's staggering ! 

Of course you labored without drop or sup, 
Yet certain parts of that Report to read. 

Some men might think indeed, 
A corkscrew, not a pen, had drawn it up. 



ODE TO J. S. BUCKINGHAM, ESQ. 125 

For instance, was it quite a sober plan. 
On such a theme as drunkenness, to trouble 

A poor old man 
Who could not e'en see single, much less double ? 

Blind some six years. 

As it appears 
He gives in evidence, and you receive it, 
A flaming picture of a flaming palace. 
Where gin-admirers sipped the chalice, 
And then (the banter is not bad), 

Thinks fit to add, 
You really should have seen it to believe it !* 

That he could see such sights I must deny, 
Unless he borrowed Betty Martin's eye. 
A man that is himself, walks in a line ; 
. One, not himself, goes serpentine. 

And as he rambles 

In crablike scrambles, 
The while his body works in curves. 
His intellect as surely swerves, 
And some such argument as this he utters : 
'' While men get cut we must have cutters, 

* What is your occupation? — My occui^ation has been in the weaving 
line ; lut Tiaving tlie dropsy six years ago, lam deprived of my eyesiglit. 

2734. Did you not once see a gin-shop burnt clown ? — About nine months 
ago there was the sign of the Adam and Eve at the corner of Church-street, 
at Bethnal-green, burnt down, and they had such a quantity of spirits in the 
house at the time that it was such a terrible fire, that they were obliged to 
throw everything into the middle of the road to keep it away from the liq- 
uor, and it was all in flames in the road ; and the gin-shop opposite was 
scorched and broke their windows ; and there was another gin-shop at the 
opposite corner — at three corners there were gin-shops — and was, from the 
fire, just like a murdering concern, for you coidd not get round the corner 
at all ; it was so thronged that a man, could not heliem it unless he saw it. 



126 ODE TO J. S. BUCKINaHAMj ESQ. 

As long as Jack will have his rum 
We must Lave pink, corvette, and bomb, 

Each sort of craft 

Since Noah's old raft. 

Frigate and brig, 

Ships of all rig ; 
We must have fleets, because our sailors swig, 
But only get our tars to broths and soups. 
And see how slops will do away with sloops ! 
Turn flip to flummery, and grog to gravy, 
And then what need has England of a navy?"* 

Forgive my muse ; she is a saucy hussy. 
But she declares ^uch reasoning sounds muzzy, 
And that, as sure as Dover stands at Dover, 
The man who entertains so strange a notion 

Of governing the ocean. 
Has been but half seas over. 

Again : when sober people talk 
On soberness, would not their words all walk 
Straight to the point, instead of zig-zag trials 
Of both sides of the way, till, having crossed 
And crossed, they find themselves completely lost 
Like gentlemen — rather cut — in Seven Dials ? 
Just like the sentence following in fact : 

" Every Actf 
Of the Legislature" (so it runs) '' should flow 

* 3893. If temperance were universal^ do you tliirik ice should need any line- 
of-battle sMps ? — It would be very unsafe for us to be witliout tliem. 

t 1686. Do you mean to infer from tbat, that the law in all its branches 
should be in accordance with the divine command ? — I do ; every Act of the 
Legislature should flow over the bed of inspired truth, and receive the iff - 
pregnation of its righteous and holy principles. 



ODE TO J. S. BUCKINGHAM, ESQ. 127 

Over the bed"' of what? — begin your guesses. 

The Bed of Ware? 

The State Bed of the Mayor ? 
One at the Hummums ? Of Mac Adam's? No. 

A parsley bed ? 

Of cabbage, green or red ? 
Of onions ? daffodils ? of water-cresses ? 
A spare-bed with a friend ? one full of fleas ? 
At Bedford, or Bedhampton ? — None of these. 
The Thames's bed ? The bed of the New River ? 
A kennel ? brick-kiln ? or a stack of hay ? 

Of church- yard clay, 
The bed that's made for every mortal liver ? 
No — give it up — all guessing I defy in it; 
It is the bed of " Truth" — " inspired" forsooth, 
As, if you gave your best best-bed to Truth. 

She'd lie in it ! 
Come, Mr. Buckingham, be candid^ come, 
Didn't that metaphor want " seeing home ?" 

What man, who did not see far more than real, 

Drink's beau ideal — 
Could fancy the mechanic so well thrives, 

In these hard times, 

The source of half his crimes 
Is going into gin-shops changing fives ?=* 
Whate'er had washed such theoretic throats. 
After a soundish sleep, till twelve next day. 
And, perhaps, a gulp of soda — did not they 

All change their notes ? 

* 2512. Are they in tlie habit of bringing £5 notes to get changed, as well 
as sovereigns ? — Very rarely ; / sliould think a £5 note is an article fhey sel- 
dom put in tJieir pockets. 



128 ODE TO J. S. BUCKINGHAM, ESQ. 

Suppose — mind, Mr. B., I say suppose — 
You were the landlord of the Crown — the Rose — 
The Cock and Bottle, or the Prince of Wales, 
The Devil and the Bag of Nails, 

The Crown and This lie, 

The Pig and Whistle, 
Magpie and Stump— take which you like, 
The question equally will strike ; 
Suppose your apron on — top-boots — fur-cap — 

Keeping an eye to bar and tap, 
When in comes, muttering like mad. 
The strangest customer you ever had ! 
Well, after rolling eyes and mouthing, 

And calling for a go of nothing, 
He thus accosts you in a tone of malice : 
"Here's pillars, curtains, gas, plate-glass — What not? 
Zounds ! Mr. Buckingham, the shop you've got 

Beats Buckingham Palace ! 
It's not to be allowed, sir ; I'm a Saint, 
So I've brought a paint-brush, and a pot of paint- — 

You deal in gin, sir, 

Glasses of sin, sir ; 
No words — Gin wholesome ? — You're a story-teller ; 
I don't mind Satan standing at your back. 
The Spirit moveth me to go about. 
And paint your premises inside and out, 

Black, sir, coal black. 
Coal black, sir, from the garret to the cellar. 
I'll teach you to sell gin ; and, what is more, 
To keep your wicked customers therefrom, 
I'll paint a great Death's-head upon your door — 
Write underneath it, if you please — Old Tom !"* 

* 8006. Do you think it would be of good effect, were the Legislature 



ODE TO J. S. BUCKINGHAM, ESQ. 129 

Sliould such a case occur, 

How would you act with the intruder, sir ? 

Surely, not cap in hand, .you'd stand and bow, 

But after hearing him proceed thus far 

(Mind — locking up the bar). 

You'd seek the first policeman near, 
" Here, take away this fellow, here ; 

The rascal is as drunk as Dayid's Sow 1" 

If I may ask again — between 

Ourselves and the G^eneral Post, I mean — 

What was that gentleman's true situation 

Who said — but could he really stand 

To what he said ? — " In Scottish land 

The cause of drunkenness was education!"* 

Only, good Mr, Buckingham, conceive it ! 

In modern Athens, a fine classic roof. 

Christened the High School — that is, over proof ! 

Conceive the sandy laddies ranged in classes. 

With quaichs and bickers, drinking-horns and glasses, 

Ready to take a lesson in Glenlivet ! 

Picture the little Campbells and M'Gregors, 

Dancing half fou', by way of learning figures ; 

And Hurrays — not as Lindley used to teach — 

Attempting verbs when past their parts of speech ; 

Imagine Thompson, learning ABC, 

By D V ; 
Fancy a dunce that will not drink his wash, 

order that those hoiises should be painted all black, with a large death's- 
head and cross-bones over the door ?— I wish they would do even so much. 
* 4502. What are the remote causes that have influenced the habit of 
drinking spirits among all classes of the population ? — One of the causes of 
drunkenness in Scotland is education. 



130 ODE TO J. S. BUCKINGHAM, ESQ. 

And Master Peter Alexander Weddel 

Invested with a medal 
Tor getting on so ver j far-in-tosh ; 
Fancy the Dominie — a drouth j body- 
Giving a lecture upon making toddy, 
Till, having emptied every stoup and cup, 
He cries, " Lads ! go and play — the school is up !" 

To Scotland, Ireland is akin 

In drinking, like as twin to twin ; 

When other means are all adrift, 

A liquor-shop is Pat's last shift, 

Till, reckoning Erin round from store to store, 

There is one whiskey-shop in four.* 
Then who, but with a fancy rather frisky. 
And warm besides, and generous with whiskey, 
Not seeing most particularly clear, 
Would recommend to make the drunkards thinner 
By shutting up the publican and sinner 
With pensions each of fifty pounds a year ?f 
Ods ! taps and topers ! private stills and worms ! 
What doors you'd soon have open to your terms ! 

To men of common gumption, 

How strange, besides, must seem 
At this time any scheme 

To put a check upon potheen's consumption, 

* S804. Did you observe the drinking of spirits very general in Ireland ? 
— In Ireland, I think, upon a moderate calculation, one shop out of eveiy 
four is a whiskey-shop, throughout the -whole kingdom. Those -who have 
heen unsuccessful in every other employment, and those who have no capi- 
tal for any employment, fly to the selling of whiskey as the last shift. 

t 773. Now, suppose we were to give £50 a-year to every spirit-seller in 
Belfast, to pension them off (and I am sure it would he much better for the 
country that they should be paid for doing nothing than for doing mis- 
chief). 



ODE TO J. S. BUCKINaHAM, ESQ. 131 

When all are calling out for Irish Poor Laws ! 

Instead of framing more laws, 

To pauperism if you'd give a pegger, 

Don't check, but patronise their "Kill the Beggar !"~* 

If Pat is apt to go in Irish Linen 

(Buttoning his coat, with nothing but his skin in), 

Would any Christian man — that's quite himself. 

His wits not floored, or laid upon the shelf — 

While blaming Pat for raggedness, poor boy. 

Would he deprive him of his " Corduroy !"f 

Would any gentleman, unless inclining 
To tipsy, take a board upon his shoulder, 
Near Temple Bar, thus warning the beholder, 

'-BEWARE OF TWINING?" 
Are tea-dealers, indeed, so deep designing. 
As one of your select would set us thinking. 
That to each tea-chest we should say, Tu Doces 

(Or doses). 
Thou tea-chest drinking ?J 

What would be said of me 
Should I attempt to trace 
The vice of drinking to the high in place. 
And say its root was on the top o' the tree ?§ 

* 794. We have in our neigbborliood. a species of Avhiskey of this kind, 
called " Kill the Beggar." 

+ 795. Another description of what would he termed adulterated spirits, 
is by the vulgar termed " Corduroy." 

X 798. It is quite common, in Dublin particularly, to have at one end of 
the counter a large pile of tea-chests for females to go behind, to be hid from 
sight ; but the dangerous secrecy arises chiefly from the want of suspicion 
in persons going into grocers' shops. 

788. It is a well-known fact, that mechanics' wives not unfrequently get 
portions of spirituous liquors at grocers' shops, and have them set down to 
their husbands' accounts as soap, sugar, tea, &c. 

§ 816. Do you ascribe the great inclination for whiskey at present existing 



132 ODE TO J. S. BUCKINGHAM, ESQ. 

But / am not pot-valiant, and I shun 

To saj how high potheen might have a run.^ 

What would you think, if, talking about stingo, 
I told you that a ladj friend of mine. 

By only looking at her wine 
Flushed in her face as red as a flamingo ?f 
Would you not ask of me, like many more, 
" Pray, sir, what had the lady had before ?" 

Suppose at sea, in Biscay's bay of bays, 
A rum-cask bursting in a blaze, 
Should / be thought half tipsy or whole drunk, 
If, running all about the deck, I roared 
'' I say, is ever a Cork man aboard?" 
Answered by some Hibernian Jack Junk, 

While hitching up his tarry trowser, 
How would it sound in sober ears, how, sir, 
If I should bellow with redoubled noise, 
'' Then sit upon the bung-hole, broth of boys !"J 

among tlie lower classes, originally to the use of it by the higher classes as 
a favorite drink ? — I attribute a very large portion of the evils arising from 
the use of spirituous liquors to the sanction they have received from the 
higher classes : the respectable in society I hold to be the chief patrons of 
drunkenness. 

* 759. What do you mean by the phrase run ? — It means, according to a 
common saying, that/o?- one gallon made for the King, anotlier is made/or the 
Queen. 

t 4627. A lady informed me lately, that, in dining out, although she 
should not taste a drop in the hob and nob at dinner, yet the lifting of the 
glass as frequently as etiquette requires, generally flushed her face a good 
deal before dinner was ended. 

X 3901. Are you aware of the cause of the burning of the Kent East In- 
diaman in the Bay of Biscay ? — Holding a candk over the bung-hole of a 
cask of spirits, the snuff fell into the cask and set it on fire. They had not 
presence of mind to put in the bung, which would have put out the fire ; 
and if a man Jiad sat on the iung-hole it would not Jiave burnt him^ and it 
would have put it out. 



ODE TO J. S. BUCKINGHAM, ESQ. 133 

When men — the fact's well known — reel to and fro, 
A little what is called how-come-you-so, 
They think themselves as steady as a steeple, 
And lay their staggerings on other people — 

Taking that fact in pawn, 
What proper inference would then be drawn 
By e'er a dray-horse with a head to his tail, 

Should anybody cry 

To some one going by, 

'^0 fie! fie! fie ! 
You're drunk — you've nigh had half a pint of ale /"* 

One certain sign of fumes within the skull, 
They say, is being rather slow and dull, 
Oblivious quite of what we are about ; 

No one can doubt 
Some weighty queries rose, and jQi you missed 'em : 
For instance, when a Doctor so bethumps 
What he denominates the '' forcing system," 
Nobody asks him about forcing-pufnps /f 

Oh say, with hand on heart. 

Suppose that I should start 

Some theory like this : 

'• When Genesis 



* 4282. Do many young men visit tliose houses ? — A very great many 
have done, more so than what visit the regular public-houses. I was in one 
of those places about twelve months ago, waiting for a coach, and there came 
into the beer-shop twenty-two boys, who called for half a gallon of ale, 
which they drank, and then they called for another. 

X 1211. The over-stimulation, which too frequently ends in the habit of 
drunkenness in Great Britain in every class, is the result of the British 
forcing system simply. 



134 ODE TO J. S. BUCKINGHAM, ESQ. 

Yfas written, before man became a glutton, 
And in his appetites ran riot, 
Content with simple vegetable diet, 
Eating his turnips without leg of mutton, 
His spinach without lamb, carrots sans beef, 

'Tis my belief 
He was a polypus, and I'm convinced 
Made other men when he was hashed or minced ;" — 
Did I in such a style as this proceed, 
Would you not say I was Farre gone^ indeed ?=^ 

Excuse me, if I doubt at each Assize 
How sober it w^ould look in public eyes. 
For our King's Counsel and our learned Judges, 
When trying thefts, assaults, frauds, murders, arsons, 
To preach from texts of temperance like parsons, 
By way of giving tipplers gentle nudges. 
Imagine my Lord Bay ley, Parke, or Park,f 
Donning the fatal sable cap, and hark — 
" These sentences must pass, howe'er I'm panged, 
You Brandy must return — and Rum the same — 
To the Goose and Gridiron, whence you came — 
Gin ! — Reverend Mr. Cotton and Jack Ketch 
Your spirit jointly will despatch — 
Whiskey be hanged !" 

* 1282. Was not vegetable food prescribed in the first chapter of Genesis ? 
— ^Vegetable food was appointed when the restorative power of man was 
complete. The restorative power in some of the lower animals is still com- 
plete. If a polypus be truncated or cut into several pieces, each pai't will 
become a perfect animal. — Vide Evidence of Dr. Farre. 

t 975. What happy opportunities, for example, are offered to each Judge 
and King's Counsellor at every Assize to denounce all customary use of dis- 
tilled spirit, as the great excitement to crime. The proper improvement of 
such opportunities would do much for temperance. 



ODE TO J. S. BUCKINGHAM, ESQ. 135 

Suppose that some fine morning, 

Mounted upon a pile of Dunlop cheeses, 

I gave the following as public warning, 

Would there not be slj wdnking, coughs, and sneezes ! 

Or dismal hiss of universal scorn : 

" Mj brethren, don't be born ; 
But if you're born be well advised — 

Don't be baptized. 
If both take place, still at the worst 

Do not be nursed ; 
At every birth each gossip dawdle 

Expects her caudle ; 
At christenings, too, drink always hands about ; 
Nurses will have their porter or their stout ; 
Don't wear clean linen, for it leads to sin — 

All washerwomen make a stand for g'n. 
If you're a minister, to keep due stinting, 
Never preach sermons that are worth the printing,* 
Avoid a steamboat with a lady in her,-|- 
And when you court, watch Miss well after dinner ; J 
Never run bills, or if you do, don't pay,§ 
And give your butter and your cheese away ; || 



* 4642. When a clergyman gets a new manse, lie is fined in a bottle of 
wine ; when lie has been newly married, this circmnstance subjects him to 
the same amicable penalty ; the birth of a child also costs one bottle, and 
the publication of a sermon another. — By J. Dunlop, Esq. 

t 4637. The absolute necessity of treating females in the same manner, in 
steamboat jaunts, is lamentable. 

X 4637. Some youths have been known to defer their entrance into a tem- 
perance society till after their marriage, lest failure in the usual compliments 
should be misconstrued, and create a coldness with their future wives. 

§ 1635. It (drinking) is employed in making bargains, at the payment of 
accounts. 

II 4639. A landlady, in settling with a farmer for his butter and cheese, 
brings out the bottle and the glass with her own hands, and presses it on his 



136 ODE TO J. S. BUCKINGHAM, ESQ. 

Build yachts and pleasure-boats, if you are rich, 
But never have them launched, or payed with pitch ;* 
In fine, for Temperance if you stand high, 

Don't die !"t 
Did I preach thus, sir, should I not appear 
Just like the " parson much bemused with beer?" 

Thus far, Mr. Buckingham, I've gathered, 
But here, alas ! by space my pen is tethered ; 
And I can merely thank you all in short. 
The witnesses that have been called in court, 
And the Committee for their kind Report, 
Whence I have picked and puzzled out this moral, 

With which you must not quarrel : 
'Tis based in charity — That men are brothers. 

Arid those tvho 'make a fuss ^ 

About their Temperance thus, 
Are not so mjuch more temperate than others. 



acceptance. How can he refuse a lady soliciting him to do what he is, per- 
haps, unfortunately already more than half inclined to ? 

* 4640, The lannching-howl is a honus of drink, varying from £2 to £10, 
according to the size of the ship, hestowed by the owners on the apprentices 
of a ship-building yard at the launch of a vessel. The graving-bowl is given 
to the journeymen after a vessel is payed with tar. 

t 4638. On the event of a decease, every one gets a glass who comes within 
the door until the funeral, and for six weeks after it. 



ODE TO MESSES. GUEEN, HOLLOND, ETC. 137 



ODE TO MESSRS. GREEN, HOLLOND, AND 

MONCK MASON,'^ 

ON THEIR LATE BALLOON EXPEDITION. 
" Here we go up, up, up — and there we go down, down, downy," — Old Ballad. 

lofty -minded men ! 
Almost beyond the pitch of my goose pen ! 

And most inflated Yfords ! 
Delicate Ariels ! ether eals ! birds 
Of passage ! fliers ! angels without wings ! 
Fortunate rivals of Icarian darings ! 
Male-witches, without broomsticks — taking airings ! 

Kites — without strings ! 
Volatile spirits ! light mercurial humors ! 
give us soon your sky adventures truly, 
With full particulars, correcting duly 

Ail flying rumors ! 

Two-legged high fliers ! 
What upper-stories you must have to tell 1 
And nobody can contradict you well, 

Or call you liars ! 
Your Region of Romance will many covet ; 
Besides that, you may scribble vfhat you will, 
And this great luck will wait upon you, still 
All criticism, you will be above it ! 

Yf rite, then, Messrs. Monck Mason, Hollond, Green ! 
And tell us all you have, or haven't seen ! — 
['"Twas kind, when the balloon went out of town, 
To take Monck Mason up and set him down, 



138 ODE TO MESSRS. GREEN 



For when a gentleman is at a shift 

For carriage — talk of carts, and gigs, and coaches ! 

Nothing to a balloon approaches, 

For giving one a lift /] 
say, when Mr. Frederic Gje 
Seemed but a speck — a mote — in friendship's eye, 
Did any tongue confess a sort of dryness 
Seeming the soaring rashness to rebuke ; 
Or did each feel himself, like Brunswick's Duke, 

A most Serene Highness ! 

Say, as you crossed the Channel, 
Well clothed in well-aired linen and warm flannel, 
How did your company, perceived afar, 

Affect the tar ? 
Methinks I see him cock his weather eye 

Against the sky, 
Turning his ruminating quid full oft, 
With wonder sudden taken all aback — 

'' My eyes !" says he, 
"I'm blow^ed if there arn't three ! 
Three little Cherubs smiling up aloft, 

A-watching for poor Jack !" 

Of course, at such a height, the ocean 
Affected no one by its motion — 
But did internal comfort dwell with each, 
Quiet and ease each comfortable skin in ? 
Or did brown Hollond of a sudden bleach 

As white as Irish linen? 

Chang-ino; his native hue, 

Did Green look blue ? — 
In short, was any air-sick ? P'rhaps Monck Mason 
Was forced to have an air-pump in a bason ? 



HOLLOND, AND MONCK MASON. 189 

Say, with what sport, or pleasure, 
Might you fill up your lofty leisure ? 

Like Scotchman, at high jinks ? 

(High-spy was an appropriate game methinks) 
Or cards — but playing very high ; 
Or skying coppers, almost to the sky ; 
Or did you listen, the first mortal ears 
That ever drank the music of the spheres ? 
Or might you into vocal music get, 

A trio — highly set ? 
Or, as the altitude so well allowed, 
Perchance, you '' blew a cloud." 

Say, did you find the air 

Give you an appetite up there ? 
Your cold provisions — were you glad to meet 'em ? 
Or did you find your victuals all so high — 

Or blown up so by your fly — 

You couldn't eat em ? 

Of course, you took some wine to sup, 
Although the circumstance has not been stated ; 
I envy you the efiervescing cup ! 

Warn't your Champagne %Dell up? 

Nay, you, yourselves, a little elevated t 

Then, for your tea and breakfast, say. 
Was it not something delicately new, 

To get sky blue 
Right genuine from the real milky way ! 

Of course, you all agreed, 
Whate'er your conversation was about. 



140 ODE TO MESSRS. GREEN, HOLLOND, ETC. 

Like friends indeed — 
And faith ! not without need, 
'Twas such an awkward place for falling out ! 

Say, after your gastronomy, 
Kept you a watch all night. 
Marking the planets bright. 
Like three more Airys, studjnng astronomy ; 

Or near the midnight chime, 
Did some one haul his nightcap on his head, 
Hold out his mounted watch, and say ^^liigh time 
To go to bed?" 

Didn't your coming scare 
The sober Germans, until every cap 
Rose lifted by a frightened -fell of hair ; 

Meanwhile the very pipe, mayhap. 
Extinguished, like the vital spark in death, 
Erom wonder locking up the smoker's breath ! " 
Didn't they crouch like chickens, when the kite 

Hovers in sight, 
To see your vehicle of huge dimension 
Aloft, like Gulliver's Laputa — nay, 
I'd better say, 
The Island of Ascension ? 

Well was it planned 
To come down thus into the German land, 
Where Honors you may score by such event — 
For, if I read the prophecy aright, 
You'll have the Eagle Order for your flight, 
And all be Von'd, because of your descent! 



REMONSTBATORY ODE. 141 



REMONSTRATORY ODE 

FROM THE ELEPHANT AT EXETER 'CHANGE, TO MR. MATHEWS, 
AT THE ENGLISH OPERA-HOUSE.^ 

" See with what courteous action 

He beckons you to a more removed ground." — Hamlet. 

[WEITTEN BY A FBIEND.] 

Oh, Mr. Mathews ! Sir ! 
(If a plain elephant may speak his mind, 
And that I have a mind to speak I find 

By my inward stir) 
I long have thought, and wished to say, that we 
Mar our well-merited prosperity 

By being such near neighbors ; 
My keeper now hath lent me pen and ink, 
Shoved in my truss of lunch, and tub of drink, 

And left me to my labors ; 
The whole menagerie is in repose, 
The Coatamundi is in his Sunday clothes. 
Watching the Lynx's most unnatural doze ; 
The Panther is asleep, and the Macaw ; 
The Lion is engaged on something raw ; 
■ The Tfhite Bear cools his chin 

'Gainst the wet tin ; 
And the confined old Monkey's in the straw ; 
All the nine little Lionets are lying 
Slumbering in milk, and sighing ; 

Miss Cross is sipping ox-tail soup 

In her front coop ; 
So here's the happy mid-day moment ; — yes, 
I seize it, Mr. Mathews, to address 



142 REMONSTRATORY ODE. 

A word or two 
To you 
On the subject of the ruin which must come 
By both being in the Strand, and both at home 
On the same nights ; two treats 
So very near each other, 
As, oh my brother ! 
To play old gooseberry with both receipts. 



When you begin 
Your summer fun, three times a week, at eightj 
And carriages roll up, and cits roll in, 
I feel a change in Exeter 'Change's change. 
And, dash my trunk ! I hate 
To ring my bell, when you ring yours, and go 
With a diminished glory through my show ! 

It is most strange ; 
But crowds that meant to see me eat a stackj 
And sip a water-butt or so, and crack 

A root of mangel-wurzel with my foot, 
Eat little children's fruit, 
Pick from the floor small coins, 
And then turn slowly round and show my India-rubber loins : 
'Tis strange — most strange, but true, 
That these same crowds seek you ! 
Pass my abode, and pay at your next door ! 

It makes me roar 
With anguish when I think of this ; I go 
With sad severity my nightly rounds 
Before one poor front row. 
My fatal funny foe ! 
And when I stoop, as duty bids, I sigh 



RBMONSTRA-TORY ODE. 143 

And feel that, while poor elephantine I, 
• Pick up the sixpence, joii pick up the pounds ! 

Could you not go ? 
Could you not take the Cobourg or the Surrey ? 
Or Sadler's Wells — (I am not in a hurry,: 
I never am !) for the next season? — oh ! 

Woe ! woe 1 woe ! 
To both- of us, if we remain ; for not 
In silence will I bear my altered lot, 
To have you merry, sir, at my expense ; 

No man of any sense, 
Mo true great person (and we both are great 
In our own ways) would tempt another's fate ; 

I would myself depart 

In Mr. Cross's cart. 
But, like Othello, " am not easily moved." 
There's a nice house in Tottenham Court, they say, 
Fit for a single gentleman's small play ; 

And more conveniently, near your home ; 
You'll easily go and come. 
Or get a room in the City — in some street — 
Coach makers' Hall, or the Paul's Head, 

Cateaton Street; 
Any large place, in short, in which to get your bread ; 

But do not stay, and get 

Me into the Gazette ! 

Ah ! The Gazette ! 
I press my forehead with my trunk and wet 
My tender cheek with elephantine tears, 

Shed of a walnut size 



144 REMONSTEATOEY ODE. 

From mj wise ejes, 
To think of ruin after prosperous years. 
What a dread case would be 
For me — large me ! 
To meet at Basinghall Street^ the first and seventh 
And the eleventh ! 

To undergo (B n !) 

My last examination ! 
To cringe, and to surrender, 
Like a criminal offender, 
All my effects — my bell-pull, and my bell, 
My bolt, my stock of hay, my new deal cell ; 

To post my ivory, sir 1 
And have some commissioner 
Very irreverently search my trunk ; 

^Sdeath ! I should die 
With rage, to find a tiger in possession 

Of my abode ; up to his yellow knees 
In my old straw ; and my profound profession 
Entrusted to two beasts of assignees I 

The truth is simply this — if you will stay 

Under my very nose, 

Filling your rows 
Just at my feeding time, to see yo2i?^ p^ay, 

My mind's made up, 

No more at nine I sup. 
Except on Tuesdays, Wednesdays, Fridays, Sundays ; 

From eight to eleven, 

As I hope for heaven. 
On Thursdays, and on Saturdays, and Mondays, 
I'll squeak and roar, and grunt without cessation, 
And utterly confound your recitation. 



REMONSTRATORY ODE. 145 

And, mark me ! all my friends of the furry snout 
Shall join a chorus shout : 
We will be heard — we'll spoil 
Your wicked ruination toil. 

Insolvency must ensue 

To you, sir, you ; 
Unless you move your opposition shop, 

And let me stop. 

I have no more to say : — I do not write 

In anger, but in sorrow ; I must look, 
However, to my interests every night. 

And they detest your " Memorandum-book." 
If we could join our forces — I should like it ; 
You do the dialogue, and I the songs : 
A voice to me belongs ; 
(The Editors of the Globe and Traveller ring 
With praises of it, when I hourly sing 

God save the King.) 
If such a bargain could be schemed, I'd strike it ; 
I think, too, I could do the Welsh old man 
In the Youthful Days, if dressed upon your plan ; 
And the attorney in your Paris trip — 

I'm large about the hip ! 
Now think of this ! — for we cannot go on 

As next door rivals, that my mind declares : 
I must be penniless^ or you be gone ! 
We must live separate, or else have shares. 
I am a friend or foe 
As you take this ; 
Let me your profitable hubbub miss, 
Or be ^^ " Mathews, Elephant, and Co. !*' 

1 



146 ADDRESS TO MR. CROSS. 



ADDEESS TO MR. CROSS, OF EXETER 'CHANGE, 

ON THE DEATH OF THE ELEPHANT.^ 
"'Tis Greece — ^but living Greece no more." — Giaour. 

Oh, Mr. Cross ! 
Permit a sorry stranger to draw near 

And shed a tear 
(I've shed my shilling) for thy recent loss ! 

I've been a visitor, 
Of old, a sort of a Buffon inquisitor, 
Of thy Menagerie — and knew the beast 

That is deceased ! — 
I was the Damon of the gentle giant, 

And oft have been. 

Like Mr. Kean, 
Tenderly fondled by his trunk compliant ; 
Whenever I approached, the kindly brute 
Flapped liis prodigious ears and bent his knees- 
It makes me freeze 
To think of it! — no chums could better suit. 
Exchanging grateful looks for grateful fruit, 
For so our former dearness was begun. 
I bribed him with an apple, and beguiled 
The beast of his affection, like a child ; 
And well he loved me till his life was done 

(Except when he was wild) : 
It makes me blush for human friends — but none 
I have so truly kept or cheaply won ! 

Here is his pen ! — 
The casket — but the jewel is away! — 



ADDRESS TO MR. CROSS. 147 

The den is rifled of its denizen — 

All well a day ! 
This fresh free air breathes nothing of his grossness. 
And sets me sighing even for its closeness. 

This light one-storj 
Where, like a cloud, I used to feast my eyes on 
The grandeur of his Titan-like horizon, 
Tells a dark tale of his departed glory. 
The very beasts lament the change, like me. 

The shaggy Bison 
Leaneth his head dejected on his knee ! 
Th' Hyena's laugh is hushed, and Monkeys pout ; 
The Wild Cat frets in a complaining whine, 
The Panther paces restlessly about 

To walk her sorrow out ; 
The Lions in a deeper bass repine, 
The Kangaroo wrings its sorry short fore paws, 

Shrieks come from the Macaws, 
The old bald Vulture shakes his naked head, 

And pineth for the dead ; 
The Boa writhes into a double knot ; 

The keeper groans 

While sawing bones, 
And looks askance at the deserted spot — 
Brutal and rational lament his loss, 
The flower of thy beastly family ! 

Poor Mrs. Cross 
Sheds frequent tears into her daily tea, 

And weakens her Bohea ! 

Oh, Mr. Cross, how little it gives birth 
To grief, when human greatness goes to earth. 
How few lament for Czars ! — 



148 ADDEESS TO MR. CROSS. 

But oh the universal heart o'erflowed 
At his high mass 
Lighted by gas, 
When, like Mark Anthony, the keeper showed 
The elephantine scars ! — 

Reporters' eyes 
Were of an egg-like size, 
Men that had never wept for murdered Marrs ! 
Hard-hearted editors with iron faces 

Their sluices all unclosed — 
And discomposed 
Compositors went fretting to their cases ! — 
That grief has left its traces : 
The poor old Beef-eater has gone much grayer 
With sheer regret, 
And the Gazette 
Seems the least trouble of the beasts' Purveyor ! 

And I too weep ! — A dozen of great men 
I could have spared without a single tear ; 

But then 
They are renewable from year to year ! 
Eresh Gents would rise, though Gent resigned the pen 

I should not whollv 
Despair for six months of another C**^*, 

Nor, though 'F***^*^** lay on his small bier, 

Be melancholy 

But when will such an Elephant appear ? 
Though Penley were destroyed at Drury Lane, 
His like might come again ! 
Fate might supply 
A second Powell if the first should die ; 
Another Bennet, if the sire were snatched; 



ADDRESS TO MR. CROSS. 149 



Barnes — might be matched ; 



And Time fill up the gap 
Were Parsloe laid upon the green earth's lap ; 
Even Claremont might be equalled — I could hope 
(All human greatness is, alas, so punj !) 
Eor other Egertons — another Pope, 

But not another Chunee ! 

Well ! he is dead ! 
And there's a gap in Nature of eleven 

Feet high bj seven — 
Five living tons ! — and I remain — nine stone 

Of skin and bone ! 
It is enough to make me shake mj head 

And dream of the grave's brink — 

'Tis worse to think 
How like the Beast's the sorry life Tve led ! — 

A sort of show 
Of mj poor public self and my sagacity. 

To profit the rapacity 
Of certain folks in Paternoster Bow, 
A slavish toil to win an upper story — 

And a hard glory 
Of wooden beams about a weary brow 1 

Oh, Mr. C. ! 
If ever you behold me twirl my pen 
To earn a public supper, that is. eat 

In the hare street, 
Or turn about their literary den — - 

Shoot me / 



150 ODE TO THE LATE LORD MAYOR. 

ODE TO THE LATE LORD MAYOR/o 

ON THE PUBLICATION" OF HIS " VISIT TO OXFORD."* 

" Now, Night descending, the proud scene is o'er, 
But lives in Settle's numbers one day more." "■ 

Pope— 0?i the Lord Mayor'' s Show. 

Worthy Mayor ! — I mean to say Ex-Mayor ! 
Chief Luddite of the ancient town of Lud ! 
Incumbent of the City's easy chair ! — 
Conservator of Thames from mud to mud ! 

Great river-bank director ! 

And dam-inspector ! 
Great guardian of small sprats that swim the flood ! 
Lord of the scarlet gown and furry cap ! 

King of Mogg's map ! 
Keeper of Gates that long have '' gone their gait," 
Warder of London stone and London log ! 
Thou first and greatest of the civic great, 

Magog or Gog ! — 

Honorable Yen 

(Forgive this little liberty between us), 
Augusta's first Augustus ! — Friend of men 

Who wield the pen I 

Dillon's Maecenas ! 
Patron of Learning where she ne'er did dwell, 
Where literature seldom finds abettors, 
Where few — except the postman and his bell — 

Encourage the hell-lettres ! — 

* See the puWished work of the Eev. Mr. Dillon, the Lord Mayor's Chap- 
lain, who, in his zealous endeavor to stamp immortality upon the civic ex- 
pedition to Oxford, has outrun every production in the annals of burlesque, 
even the long renowned " Voyage from Paris to St. Cloud." 



OBE TO THE LATE LORD MAYOR. 151 

Well hast thou done, Right Honorable Sir — 
Seeing that years are such devouring ogresses, 
And thou hast made some little journeying stir 
To get a Nichols to record thy Progresses ! 

Wordsworth once wrote a trifle of the sort ; 

But for diversion. 
For truth — for nature — everything in short— 
I own I do prefer thy own " Excursion." 

The stately story 

Of Oxford glory — ■ 
The Thames romance — yet nothing of a fiction — 
Like thine own stream it flows along the page — 

'' Strong, without rage," 
In diction worthy of thy jurisdiction 1 
To future ages thou wilt seem to be 

A second Parry ; 

For thou didst carry 
Thy navigation to a fellow crisis. 
He penetrated to a Frozen Sea, 
And thou — to where the Thames is turned to Isis !* 

I like thy setting out ! 
Thy coachman and thy coachmaid boxed together !f 
I like thy Jarvey's serious face — in doubt 
Of " four fine animals" — no Cobbetts either !J 

* The Chaplain doubts the correctness of the Thames being turned into 
the Isis at Oxford : of course he is right — according to the course of the 
river, it must be the Isis that is turned into the Thames. 

t " As soon as the female attendant of the Lady Mayoress had taken her 
seat, dressed with becoming neatness, at the side of the -well-looking coach- 
man, the carriage drove away." — Visit, 

X "The coachman's countenance was reserved and thoughtful, indicating 
full consciousness of the test by which his equestrian skill would this day 
"be tried.'' ^ —Ibid. 



152 ODE TO THE LATE LORD MAYOR. 

I like the slow state pace — the pace allowed 
The best for dignity^ — and for a crowd, 

And very Julj weather. 
So hot that it let off the Hounslow powder !f 
I like the She-Mayor's proffer of a seat 
To poor Miss Magnay, fried to a white heat ;| 
'Tis well it didn't chance to be Miss Crowder ! 

I like the steeples with their weathercocks on, 

Discerned about the hour of three, P. M. ; 

I like thy party's entrance into Oxon, 

For oxen soon to enter into thein ! 

I like the ensuing banquet better far. 

Although an act of cruelty began it ; — 

For why — before the dinner at the Stai^ — 

Why was the poor Town-clerk sent off io plan it? 

I like your learned rambles not amiss, 
Especially at Bodley's, where ye tarried 
The longest — doubtless because Atkins carried 
Letters (of course from Ignorance) to Bliss !§ 
The other Halls were scrambled through more hastily ; 
But I like this — 



* " The carriage drove away ; not, however, with that violent and extreme 
rapidity which rather astounds than gratifies the beholders ; but at that 
steady and majestic pace, which is always an indication of real greatness." 

t "On approaching Hounslow, there was seen at some distance a huge 
volume of dark smoke." The Chaplain thought it was only a blowing up 
for rain, but it turned out to be the spontaneous combustion of a powder- 
mill. 

X " The Lady Mayoress, observing that they (the Magnays) must be 
somewhat crowded in the chaise, invited Miss Magnay to take the fourth 
seat." 

§ "The Eev. Dr. Bliss, of St. John's College, the Registrar of the Fni- 
versity, to whom Mr. Alderman Atkins had letters of introduction."— P. 32, 



ODE TO THE LATE LORD MAYOR. 153 

I like the Aldermen who stopped to drink 
Of Maudlin's " classic water" very tastily, =* 
Although I think — what I am loth to think — 
Except to Dillon, it has proved no Castalj ! 

I like to find thee finally afloat ; 

I like thy being barged and water-bailiffed, 

Who gave thee a lift 
To thy state-galley in his own state-boat. 
I like thy small sixpenny worths of largess 
Thrown to the urchins at the City's charges ; 
I like the sun upon thy breezy fanners, 
Ten splendid scarlet silken stately banners ! 
Thy gilded bark shines out quite transcendental ! 

I like dear Dillon still, 

Who quotes from '' Cooper's Hill," 
And Birch, the cookly Birch, grown sentimental ;f 
I like to notejiis civic mind expanding 
And quoting Denham, in the watery dock 

Of Ifley lock- 
Plainly no Lock upon the Understanding ! 

I like thy civic deed 

At Runnymede, 
Where ancient Britons came in arms to barter 
Their lives for right — Ah, did not Waithman grow 

Half mad to show 
Where his renowned forefathers came to bleed — 
And freeborn Magnay triumph at his Charter ? 

* " The Buttery was next visited, in -wliicli some of tlie party tasted the 
classic water." — P. 57. 

t " Mr. Alderman Birch here called to the recollection of the party the 
beautiful lines of Sir John Denham on the river Thames : — ' Tho' deep yet 
clear, etc' "—P. 90. 



154 ODE TO THE LATE LORD MAYOR. 

I like full well thy ceremonious setting 
The justice-sword (no doubt it wanted whetting!) 
On London Stone ; but I don't like the waving 
Thj banner over it,* for I must own 

Flag over stone 
Reads like a most superfluous piece of paving ! 

I like thy Cliefden treat ; but I'm not going 
To run the civic story through and through, 
But leave thy barge to Pater Noster row-ing 

My plaudit to renew. 
Well hast thou done, Right Honorable rover, 
To leave this lasting record of thy reign, 
A reign, alas ! that very soon is '' over 
And gone," according to the Rydal strain ! 

'Tis piteous how a mayor 

Slips through his chair. 
I say it with a meaning reverential, 
But let him be rich, lordly, wise, sentential, 
Still he must seem a thing inconsequential — 
A melancholy truth one cannot smother ] 

For why ? 'tis very clear 

He comes in at one year, 

To go out by the other ! 
This is their Lordships' universal order ! — 
But thou shalt teach them to preserve a name — 
Make future Chaplains chroniclers of fame ! 
And every Lord Mayor his own Recorder ! 

* " It was also a part of the ceremony, wliich, thougli importaut, is sim- 
ple, that tlie City banner should wave over the stone." — ^P. 144. 



ODE TO GEOEGE COLMAN. 155 



ODE TO GEORGE COLMAN, THE YOUNGER, 

DEPUTY LICENSER OF PLAYS. 

This fierce inquisitor lias chief 

Dominion over men's belief 

And manners ; can pronounce a saint 

Idolatrous or ignorant ; — 

"When superciliously he sifts 

Through coarsest boulter others' gifts ; 

For all men live and judge amiss, 

Whose talents jump not just with his. — Hudibras, Can. III. 

Dost thou think because thou art virtuous, there shall be no more cakes and ale ? 

Twelfth Night. 

The play — the play's the thing ; — in which to catch the conscience. — Hamlet. 

Come, Colman ! Mrs. Gibbs's chum ! 
Virtue's protector ! Come, George, come, 

Sit down beside this beech, 
That fiourisheth in Fulham road ; 
And let me all mj heart unload 

Of levitj — and preach ! 

Thou'rt altered, George, since thy young days 
Of wicked verse and heedless plays, 

With double meanings crammed ; 
" White for the harvest" is thine age, 
Thou chief curse-cutter for the stage, 

And scourger of the damned ! 

Thou that wert once th' offender — thou 
The police-officer art now ; 

The vicious are thy crop ! 
Thou'rt Doctor Cotton to a play. 
Keeping it from damnation's way, 

When doomed for the new drop ! 



156 ODE TO GEORGE COLMAN. 

Thy predecessor was content, 
Like Byron, " to let Reynolds vent 

His dammees, poo"s, and zounds 1'^ 
But thou, like Maw- worm, cloth 'st thyself 
With ill-got oath-correcting pelf, 

And turnest damns to pounds ! 

Poor Farce ! her mourning now may put on ! 
And Comedy's as dead as mutton ! 

(No sheep must have a dam.) 
Farewell to Tragedy ! her knell 
And neck are wrung at once — farewell 

The Drama ! — (dele dram.) 

George ! hath some serious man in black 
Slipped in thy hand the small sly "track 

All verbal sins to paint ? 
Or art thou laboring to be one 
Like sleek dead Mr. Huntington — 

Half Coalmari — and half saint ? 

Well might unusual crimson rush 
Into thy cheeks — (no claret blush) 

For thy young muse's sins ! 
Ah ! who could think that prim pursed mouth 
Of her's had worn in early youth • 

The broadest of Broad Grins ! 

But she — a wench of wicked sense, 
Debauched into experience, 

Knows what's the unclean cup : 
Not one, so well, I'll warrant me. 
Can pitch upon a naughty Shee^ 

And show the creature up ! 



ODE TO GEORGE COLMAN. 157 

Has Irving taught thee how to trounce 
Dramatic man, and to renounce 

The wickedness of wit ? 
Or James * convinced thee that the way 
Some have of going to the play 

Must lead them to the Pit ! 

Nothing like thee — to Heaven's praise ! 
(Forgive the appeal !) plagued Bess's days — 

Her poet's hope to quell : 
Hadst thou lived then, we should have had 
No vile, immoral Warwick lad, 

With all his '' blasts from Hell !" 

Who would believe, my good yeoman. 
Like thy own deviating Dan, 

Thou ever hadst given up 
Thyself to whistle and to stray, 
To drink, with Dukes and Ladies gay, 

A very merry cup ! 

Two-Guinea Censor ! too particular 
In virtue's slang ! too great a stickler . 

For oaths and prayers in blank ! 
Poor D. dash D. is all that goes 
With thee, thou Legend of Montrose ! — 

Pah ! thy offence is Rank i 

Good bye to Godby ! f (dele God /) 
Methinks I see all curtains nod 
To one sad final fall ! 



* Not James the apostle, but Mr. Bunn's Brummagem youtli. 
+ A celebrated theatrical carpenter: — a great favorite with Mr. Colman, 
until the liceneer " filched from him his good name." 



158 ODE TO GEORGE COLMAN. 

Stages must sink from bad to worser — 
The sad precursor (dele cursor) 
Of ruin frowns on all ! 

Who, George — oh, who that hath of wit 

A grain — his fancies will submit 

To nonsense and to thee ? 

What ! — come, to be " run through," and then 

Give sovereigns to reward the pen 

That cut us ? 

U. B. D. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 



OF 



WIT AND HUMOR. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



DOMESTIC ASIDES; 

OR, TRUTH IN PARENTHESES. 

" I KEALLY take it very kind, 

This visit, Mrs. Skinner ! 
I have not seen you such an age — 

(The wretch has come to dinner !) 

" Your daughters, too, what loves of girls- 
What heads for painters' easels ! 

Come here, and kiss the infant, dears — 
(And give it p'rhaps the measles !) 

" Your charming boys, I see, are home 
From Reverend Mr. Russell's ; 

'Twas very kind to bring them both — 
(What boots for my new Brussels !) 

" What ! little Clara left at home ! 

Well, now, I call that shabby ; 
I should have loved to kiss her so — 

(A flabby, dabby, babby !) 

'^ And Mr. S., I hope he's well; 

Ah ! though he lives so handy, 
He never now drops in to sup — 

(The better for our brandy !) 



162 TOWN AND COUNTRY. 

'' Come, take a seat — I long to hear 

About Matilda's marriage ; 
You're come, of course, to spend the day — 

(Thank Heaven I hear the carriage !) 

'' What ! must you go ? next time, I hope, 
You'll give me longer measure ; 

Nay — I shall see you down the stairs — 
(With most uncommon pleasure !) 

^' Good-bye ! good-bye ! remember all, 
Next time you'll take your dinners ! 

(Now, David, mind I'm not at home, 
In future to the Skinners !") 



TOWN AND COUNTRY. 

AN ODE. 

! WELL may poets make a fuss 
In summer time, and sigh •' O rus P^ 

Of London pleasures sick : 
My heart is all at pant to rest 
In Greenwood shades — my eyes detest 

This endless meal of brick ! 

What joy have I in June's return ? 
My feet are parched, my eyeballs burn, 

I scent no flowery gust : 
But faint the flagging zephyr springs. 
With dry Macadam on its wings, 

And turns me " dust to dust." 

My sun his daily course renews 
Due east, but with no Eastern dews ; 

The path is dry and hot ! 
His setting shows more tamely still, 



TOWN AND COUNTRY. 163 

He sinks behind no purple hill, 
But down a chimney's pot ! 

! but to hear the milkmaid blithe, 
Or early mower whet his scythe 

The dewy meads among ! — 
My grass is of that sort, alas ! 
That makes no hay — called sparrow-grass 

By folks of vulgar tongue ! 

! but to smell the woodbines sweet ! 

1 think of cowslip cups — but meet 

With very vile rebuffs ! 
For meadow-buds I get a whiff 
Of Cheshire cheese, — or only sniff 

The turtle made at Cuff's. 

How tenderly Rousseau reviewed 
His periwinkles ! — mine are strewed ! 

My rose blooms on a gown ! — 
I hunt in vain for eglantine, 
And find my blue-bell on the sign 

That marks the Bell and Crown : 

Where are ye, birds ! that blithely wing 
From tree to tree, and gayly sing 

Or mourn in thickets deep ? 
-My cuckoo has some ware to sell, 
The watchman is my Philomel, 

My blackbird is a sweep ! 

Where are ye, linnet, lark, and thrush ! 
That perch on leafy bough and bush, 

And tune the various song ? 
Two hurdy-gurdists, and a poor 
Street-Handel grinding at my door, 

Are all my " tuneful throng,' ' 



164 TOWN AND COUNTRY. 

Where are je, earlj-purling streams, 
Whose waves reflect the morning beams, 

And colors of the skies ? 
Mj rills are only puddle-drains 
From shambles, or reflect the stains 

Of calimanco-dyes ! 

Sweet are the little brooks that run 
O'er pebbles glancing in the sun. 

Singing in soothing tones : — 
Not thus the city streamlets flow ; 
They make no music as they go, 

Though never '' off the stones." 

Where are ye, pastoral pretty sheep, 
That wont to bleat, and frisk, and leap, 

Beside your woolly dams ? 
Alas ! instead of harmless crooks, 
My Cory dons use iron hooks, 

And skin — not shear — the lambs. 

The pipe whereon, in olden day, 
The Arcadian herdsman used to play 

Sweetly, here soundeth not ; 
But merely breathes unwholesome fumes, 
Meanwhile the city boor consumes 

The rank weed — " piping hot." 

All rural things are vilely mocked, 
On every hand the sense is shocked, 

With objects hard to bear : 
Shades — vernal shades ! — where wine is sold ! 
And, for a turfy bank, behold 

An Ingram's rustic chair ! 

Where are ye, London meads and bowers^ 
And gardens redolent of flowers 



LAMENT FOR THE DECLINE OF CHIVALRY. 165 

Wherein the zephyr wons ! 
Alas ! Moor Fields are fields no moro ; 
See Hatton's Garden bricked all o'er ; 

And that bare wood — St. John's. 

No pastoral scenes procure me peace ; 
I hold no Leasowes in mj lease. 

No cot set round with trees : 
No sheep-white hill my dwelling flanks ; 
And omnium furnishes my banks 

"Who brokers — not with bees. 

! well may poets make a fuss 

In summer time, and sigh " O riis ! " 

Of city pleasures sick : 
My heart is all at pant to rest 
In greenwood shades — - my eyes detest 

That endless meal of brick ! 



LAMENT FOR THE DECLINE OP CHIVALRY. 

Well hast thou cried, departed Burke, 
All chivalrous romantic work 

Is ended now and past ! — 
That iron age — which some have thought 
Of mettle rather overwrought — 

Is now all overcast ! 

Ay ! where are those heroic knights 
Of old — those armadillo wights 

Who wore the plated vest ? — 
Great Charlemagne and all his peers 
Are cold — enjoying with their spears 

An everlasting rest ! 



166 LAMENT FOR THE DECLINE OF CHIVALRY. 

The bold King Arthur sleepeth sound ; 
So sleep his knights who gave that Round 

Old Table such eclat ! 
0, Time has plucked the plumy brow ! 
And none engage at Turner's now 

But those that go to law ! 

Grim John o' Gaunt is quite gone by, 
And Guy is nothing but a Guy, 

Orlando lies forlorn ! — 
Bold Sidney, and his kidney — nay, 
Those "early champions " — what are they 

But knights without a morn. 

No Percy branch now perseveres 
Like those of old in breaking spears — 

The name is now a lie ! — 
Surgeons, alone, by any chance. 
Are all that ever couch a lance 

To couch a body's eye ! 

Alas for Lion-Hearted Dick, 
That cut the Moslems to the quick. 

His weapon lies in peace : 
0, it would warm them in a trice, 
If they could only have a spice 

Of his old mace in Greece ! 

The famed Binaldo lies a-cold. 
And Tancred too, and Godfrey bold. 

That scaled the holy wall ! 
No Saracen meets Paladin, 
We hear of no great Saladin^ 

But only grow the small ! 

Our Cressys, too, have dwindled since 
To penny things — at our Black Prince 



LAMENT rOR THE DECLINE OF CHIVALRY 167 

Historic pens would scoflf : 
The only one we moderns had 
Was nothing but a Sandwich lad. 

And measles took him ofi"! 

Where are those old and feudal clans, 
Their pikes, and bills, and partisans, 

Their hauberks, jerkins, buffs ? 
A battle was a battle then, 
A breathing piece of work ; but men 

Fight now — with powder puffs. 

The curtal-axe is out of date ; 

The good old cross-bow bends — to Fate ; 

'T is gone, the archer's craft ! 
No tough arm bends the springing yew, 
And jolly draymen ride, in lieu 

Of Death, upon the shaft ! 

The spear, the gallant tilter's pride, 
The rusty spear, is laid aside, — 

0, spits now domineer ! 
The coat of mail is left alone, — 
And where is all chain armor gone ? 

Go ask a Brighton Pier. 

We fight in rope's, and not in lists. 
Bestowing handcuffs with our fists, 

A low and vulgar art ! 
No mounted man is overthrown : 
A tilt ! it is a thing unknown — 

Except upon a cart ! 

Methinks I see the bounding barb. 
Clad like his chief in steely garb. 

For warding steel's appliance ! 
Methinks I hear the trumpet stir ! 



168 THE GREEN MAN. 

'T is but the guard to Exeter, 

That bugles the "Defiance." 

In cavils when will cavaliers 
Set ringing helmets hj the ears, 

And scatter plumes about? 
Or blood — if they are in the vein ? 
That tap will never run again — 

Alas ! the Casque is out ! 

No iron-crackling now is scored 
By dint of battle-axe or sword, 

To find a vital place — 
Though certain doctors still pretend, 
A while, before they kill a friend, 

To labor through his case ! 

Farewell, then, ancient men of might ! 
. Crusader, errant-squire, and knight ! 

Our coats and custom soften; 
To rise would only make you weep — 
Sleep on, in rusty-iron sleep. 

As in a safety coffin ! 



THE GREEN MAN. 

Tom Simpson was as nice a kind of man 
As ever lived — at least at Number Four, 
In Austin Friars, in Mrs. Brown's first floor, 
At fifty pounds — or thereabouts — per ann. 
The lady reckoned him her best of lodgers, 
His rent so punctually paid each quarter ! 
He did not smoke like nasty foreign codgers, 
Or play French horns like Mr. Rogers, 
Or talk hiB flirting nonsense to her daughter ; 



THE GREEN MAN. 169 

Not that the girl was light behaved or courtable — 
Still, on one failing tenderly to touch, 
The gentleman did like a drop too much 

(Though there are many such), 
And took more Port than was exactly portable. 
In fact, — to put the cap upon the nipple, 
And try the charge, — Tom certainly did tipple. 

Once in the company of merry mates, 
In spite of Temperance's ifs and huts, 
So sure as Eating is set off with plates^ 
His drinking always was bound up with cuts ! 

Howbeit, such bacchanalian revels 
Bring very sad catastrophes about. 
Poor Simpson ! what a thing occurred to him ! 
'T was Christmas — he had drunk the night before, — 
Like Baxter, who so '^ went beyond his last " — 
One bottle more, and then one bottle more, 
Till, ! the red-wine Ruby-con was passed ! 
And homeward, by the short, small chimes of day, 
With many a circumbendibus to spare, 

For instance, twice round Finsbury Square, 
To use a fitting phrase, he loound his way. 

Then comes the rising, with repentance bitter. 

And all the nerves — (and sparrows) — in a twitter, 

Till settled by the sober Chinese cup : 

The hands, o'er all are members that make motions, 

A sort of wavering, just like the ocean's. 

Which has its swell, too, when its getting up — 

An awkward circumstance enough for elves 

Who shave themselves. 
And Simpson just was ready to go through it, 
When, lo ! the first short glimpse within the glass — 
He jumped — and who alive would fail to do it ? 



170 THE GBREN MAN. 

To see, however it had come to pass, 
One section of his face as green as grass ! 

In vain each eager wipe, 
With soap — without — wet — hot or cold — or dry, 
Still, still, and still, to his astonished eje, 
One cheek was green, the other cherry ripe ! 
Plump in the nearest chair he sat him down, 
Quaking, and quite absorbed in a deep study, — 

But verdant and not brown, — 
What could have happened to a tint so ruddy? 
Indeed, it was a very novel case, 
By way of penalty for being jolly, 
To have that evergreen stuck in his face. 
Just like the windows with their Christmas holly. 

"All claret marks," — thought he — Tom knew his forte- 
" Are red — this color cannot come from Port ! " 

One thing was plain ; with such a face as his, 
'T was quite impossible to ever greet 
Good Mrs. Brown. 

— So he tied up his head, 
As with a raging tooth, and took to bed: 
Of course with feelings far from the serene, 
For all his future prospects seemed to be, 

To match his customary tea, 

Black, mixed with green. 

Meanwhile, good Mrs. Brown 
Wondered at Mr. S. not coming down, 
And sent the maid up stairs to learn the whyj 
To whom poor Simpson, half delirious, 
Returned an answer so mysterious 
That curiosity began to fry ; 
The more, as Betty, who had caught a snatch 



THE GREEN MAN. 171 

By peeping in upon the patient's bed, 
Reported a most bloody tied-up head, 
Got over-night of course — "Harm watch, harm catch," 
From Watchmen in a boxing match. 

So, liberty or not, — 
Good lodgers are too scarce to let them off in 

A suicidal coffin — 
The dame ran up as fast as she could trot ; 
Appearance, — " fiddle-sticks ! " should not deter 

From going to the bed. 

And looking at the head ; 
La ! Mister S , he need not care for her ! 

A married woman that had had 
Nine boys and gals, and none had turned out bad — 
Her own dear late would come home late at night, 

And liquor always got him in a fight. 
She 'd been in hospitals — she wouldn't faint 
At gores and gashes fingers wide and deep ; 
She knew what 's good for bruises and what an't — 
Turlington's Drops she made a pint to keep. 
Cases she'd seen beneath the surgent's hand — 
Such skulls japanned — she meant to say trepanned ! 

Hereat she plucked the white cravat aside. 
And, lo ! the whole phenomenon was seen — 
" Preserve us all ! He's going to gangrene ! " 

Alas ! through Simpson's brain 
Shot the remark, like ball, with mortal pain ; 
It tallied truly with his own misgiving. 

And brought a groan. 

To move a heart of stone — 
A sort of farewell to the land of living ! 
And, as the case was imminent and urgent, 



172 THE GREEN MAN. 

He did not make a shadow of objection 
To Mrs. B's proposal for a "surgent." 

Swift flew the summons, — it was life or death ! 
And, in as short a time as he could race it, 
Came Doctor Puddicome, as short of breath, 
To try his Latin charms against Hie Jacet. 
He took a seat beside the patient's bed. 
Saw tongue — felt pulse — examined cheek, — 
Poked, stroked, pinched, kneaded it, hemmed, shook his head^ 
Took a long, solemn pause the cause to seek 

(Thinking, it seemed, in Greek), 
Then asked' — 'twas Christmas — "Had he eaten grass, 
Or greens — and if the cook was so improper, 

To boil them up with copper, 

Or farthings made of brass. 
Or if he drank his Hock from dark green glass, 
Or dined at City Festivals, whereat 
There 's turtle, and green fat ? " 
To all of which, vnth serious tone of woe, 

Poor Simpson answered "No." 

The Doctor was at fault ; 
A thing so new quite brought him to a halt. 
Cases of other colors came in crowds. 
Black with Black Jaundice he had seen the skin ; 

From Yellow Jaundice yellow. 

From saffron tints to sallow. 
Even those eruptions he had never seen 
Of which the Caledonian Poet spoke. 

As " rashes growing green " — 

" Phoo ! phoo ! a rash grow green ! 
Nothing, of course, but a broad Scottish joke ! " 
Then as to flamins; visao-es. for those 
The Scarlet fever answered, or the Rose — 
But verdant ! thav was quite a novel stroke ! 



THE GRREN MAN. 173 

So matters stood in-doors — meanwhile without 

Growing in going like all other rumors, 
The modern miracle was buzzed about. 

" Green faces ! " so they all began to comment — 
"Yes — opposite to Druggists' lighted shops, 
But that 's a flying color — never stops — 
A bottle-green, that 's vanished in a moment. 

Green ! nothing of the sort occurs to mind — 
Nothing at all to match the present piece ; 
Jack in the Green has nothing of the kind — 

Green-grocers are not green, nor yet green geese ! " 
The oldest Supercargoes or Old Sailors 

Of such a case had never heard, 
From Emerald Isle to Cape de Verd ; 
" Or Greenland ! " cried the whalers. 

All tongues were full of the Green Man, and still 
They could not make him out, with all their skill. 
No soul could shape the matter, head or tail — 
But Truth steps in where all conjectures fail. 

A long half-hour, in needless puzzle, 

Our Galen's cane had rubbed against his muzzle ; 

He thought, and thought, and thought, and thought, and 

thought — 
And still it came to naught. 
When up rushed Betty, loudest of Town Criers, 

" Lord, Ma'am, the new Police is at the door ! 

It 's B, Ma'am, Twenty-four, — 
As brought home Mister S. to Austin Friars, 

And says there 's nothing but a simple case : 

He got that 'ere green face 
By sleeping in the kennel near the Dyer's ! '' 



174 ALL ROUND MY HAT. 

ALL ROUND MY HAT. 

A NEW VERSION. 

* Meditate — meditate, I beseech you, upon Trim's hat." 

Tristram Shandy 

Comb, mj old hat, mj steps attend ! 

Howe.ver wags may sneer and scoff, 
My castor still shall be my friend, 

For I '11 not be a caster off. 
So take again your olden place. 

That always found you fit and pat, 
Whatever mode might please the race, 

All round my hat, all round my hat ! 

All round the world, w^hile I 've a head, 

However I may chance to be 
Without a home, without a shed, 

My tile shall be a roof to me. 
Black, rusty, gray, devoid of pelt, 

A shocking shape, or beaten flat, 
Still there are joys that may be felt 

All round my hat, all round my hat ! 

The Quaker loves an ample brim, 

A hat that bows to no Salam — 
And dear the beaver is to him 

As if it never made a dam. 
All men in drab he calleth friends ; — 

But there 's a broader brim than that — 
Give me the love that comprehends 

All round my hat, all round my hat ! 

The Monarch binds his brows in gold, 
With gems and pearls to sparkle there ; 

But still a hat, a hat that 's old. 
They say is much more easy wear. 



ALL KOUND MY HAT. 175 

At regal state I '11 not repine 

For Kaiser, King, or Autocrat, 
Whilst there 's a golden sun to shine 
All round my hat, all round my hat ! 

The soldier seeks the field of death ; 

He fights, he fires, he faints, he falls, 
To gain an airy laurel wreath, 

With berries made of musket-balls. 
No love have I for shot and shell, 

With hissings sharp that end in flat — 
Chafers and gnats sing just as well 

All round my hat, all round my hat ! 

As yet, my hat, you 've got a crown ; 

A little nap the brush can find ; 
Your are not very, very brown, 

Nor very much scrubbed up behind. 
As yet your brim is broad and brave, — 

I took some little care of that, 
By not saluting every knave 

All round my hat, all round my hat ! 

As yet, my hat, I 've got a house, 

jind dine as other people do, 
And fate propitious still allows 

A home for me — a peg for you. 
But say my bread were but a crumb, 

Myself as poor as any rat — 
Why, I could cry, " Good people, come 

All round my hat, all round my hat ! " 

As yet, the best of womankind 

Continues all that wife should be. 
And in the self-same room I find 

Her bonnet and my hat agree. 



176 LAYING DOWN THE LAW. 

But saj the bliss should not endure, 
That she should turn a perfect cat, — 

I 'd trust to time to bring a cure, 

All round my hat, all round mj hat ! 

No acres broad pertain to me, 

To furnish cattle, coal, or corn ; 
Like people that are born at sea, 

There was no land where I was born : 
Yet, when my flag of life is furled, 

What landlord can do more than that ? 
I '11 leave my heir the whole wide world, 

All round' my hat, all round my hat ! 



LAYING DOWN THE LAW. 
(on the celebrated picture so called.) 
" I am Sir Oracle, 



And when I ope my lips let no dog bark. ' ' 

Merchant of Venice. 

*• If thou wert born a Dog, remain so ; but if thou wert born a Man, 
resume thy former shape." — Arabian Nights. 

A Poodle, Judge-like, with emphatic paw, 
Dogmatically laying down the law, — 

A batch of canine Counsel round the table, 
Keen-eyed, and sharp of nose, and long of jaw. 
At sight, at scent, at giving tongue, right able : 
0, Edwin Landseer, Esquire, and E.. A., 
Thou great Pictorial ^sop, say. 
What is the moral of this painted fable ? 

0, say, accomplished artist ! 
Was it thy purpose, by a scene so quizzical, 
To read a wholesome lesson to the Chartist, 
So over partial to the means called Physical, 



LAYING DOWN THE LAW. 177 

Sticks, staves, and swords, and guns, the tools of treason ? 
To show, illustrating the better course. 
The very Brutes abandoning Brute Force, 
The worry and the fight, 
The bark and bite. 
In which, says Doctor Watts, the dogs delight, 

And lending shaggy ears to Law and Reason, 
As uttered in that Court of high antiquity 
Where sits the Chancellor, supreme as Pope, 
But works — so let us hops — 
In equity, not iniquity ? 
Or was it but a speculation, 
Or transmigration, 
How certain of our most distinguished Daniels, 
Interpreters of Law's bewildering book, 
Would look 
Transformed to mastiffs, setters, hounds, and spaniels 

(As Bramins in their Hindoo code advance), 
With that great lawyer of the Upper House 
Who rules all suits by equitable notis^ 
Become — like vile Ansina's spouse — 

A Dog, called Chance ? * 
Methinks, indeed, I recognize 
In those deep-set and meditative eyes 
Engaged in mental puzzle, 
And that portentous muzzle, 
A celebrated judge, too prone to tarry 
To hesitate on devious inns and outs, 
And, on preceding doubts, to build redoubts 
That regiments could not carry — 
Prolonging even Law's delays, and still 
Putting a skid upon the wheel up-hill, 

* See the story of Sidi Nonman, in the Arabian JVights. 

43 



178 LAYING DOVv^N THE LAW. 

Meanwhile the weary and desponding client 
Seemed — in the agonies of indecision — 

In Doubting Castle, with that dreadful Giant 
Described in Bunyan's Vision ! 

So slow, indeed, was justice in its ways, 
Beset by more than customary clogs, 
Going to law in those expensive days 

Was much the same as going to the Dogs ! 
But possibly I err, 
And that sagacious and judicial Creature, 

So Chancellor-like in feature, 
With ears so wig- like, and a cape of fur, 
Looking as grave, responsible, and sage, 
As if he had the guardianship, in fact, 
Of all poor dogs, or crackt, 
And puppies under age — 
It may be that the Creature was not meant 

Any especial Lord to represent, 
Eldon or Erskine, Cottenham or Thurlow, 
Or Brougham (more like him whose potent jaw 
Is holding forth the letter of the law), 

Or Lyndhurst, after the vacation's furlough, 
Presently sitting in the House of Peers, 
On wool he sometimes wishes in his ears. 
When touching Corn Laws, Taxes, or Tithe-piggery, 
He hears a fierce attack, 
And, sitting on his sack. 
Listens in his great wig to greater Whiggery ! 

So, possibly, those others. 
In coats so various, or sleek, or rough, 

Aim not at any of the legal brothers, 
Who wear the silken robe, or gown of stuff. 

Yet who that ever heard or saw 



LAYING DOWN THE LAW. 179 

The Counsel sitting in that solemn Courtj 
Who, having passed the Bar, are safe in port, 

Or those great Sergeants, learned in the Law, — 
Who but must trace a feature now and then 

Of those forensic men. 
As good. at finding heirs as any harriers, 

Renowned like greyhounds for long tales — indeed, 
At worrying the ear as apt as terriers, — 
Good at conveyance as the hairy carriers 
That bear our gloves, umbrellas, hats, and sticks. 

Books, baskets, bones, or bricks. 
In Deeds of Trust as sure as Tray the trusty, — 

Acute at sniffing flaws on legal grounds, — 
And lastly — well the catalogue it closes ! — 

Still following their predecessors' noses, 

Through ways however dull or dusty, 
As fond of hunting precedents, as hounds 

Of running after foxes more than musty. 

However slow or fast, 
Full of urbanity, or supercilious, 
In temper wild, serene, or atrabilious. 
Fluent of tongue, or prone to legal saw. 
The Dogs have got a Chancellor, at last. 
For Laying down the Law ! 
And never may the canine race regret it, 
With whinings and repinings loud or deep, — 
Ragged in coat, and shortened in their keep, 
Worried by day, and troubled in their sleep. 

With cares that prey upon the heart and fret it — 
As human suitors have had cause to weep — 

For what is Law, unless poor Dogs can get it 
Dog-cheap ? 



180 SONNET — PORTRAIT OF A LADY, ETC. 

SONNET. 

ON MISTRESS NICELY, A PATTERN FOR HOUSEKEEPERS. 

Written after seeing Mrs. Davenport in the character at Covent Garden. 

She was a woman peerless in her station, 

With household virtues wedded to her name ; 

Spotless in linen, grass-bleached in her fame, 
And pure and clear-starched in her reputation ; — 
Thence in mj Castle of Imagination 

She dwells forevermore, the dainty dame. 

To keep all airj draperies from shame, 
And all dream furnitures in preservation : 

There walketh she with keys quite silver bright. 
In perfect hose, and shoes of seemly black, 

Apron and stomacher of lily-v/hite. 
And decent order follows in her track : 

The burnished plate grows lustrous in her sight, 
And polished floors and tables shine her back. 



ON THE POETRAIT OF A LADY. 

TAKEN BY THE DAGUERREOTYPE. 

Yes, there are her features ! her brow, and her hair, 
And her eyes, with a look so seraphic ; 

Her nose, and her mouth, with the smile that is there, 
Truly caught by the Art Photographic ! 

Yet why should she borrow such aid of the skies. 

When, by many a bosom's confession, 
Her own lovely face and the light of her eyes 

Are sufficient to make an impression ? 



PARTY SPIRIT. 

" Why did you not dine," said a Lord to a Wit, 
" With the Whigs, you political sinner? " 

" Why, really, I meant, but had doubts how the Pit 
Of my stomach would bear a Fox dinner." 



ART OF BOOK KEEPING. 181 



AET OF BOOK KEEPING. 

How hard, when those who do not wish 

To lend, thus lose, their books, 
Are snared by anglers— folks that fish 

With literary Hooks — 
Who call and take some favorite tome, 

But never read it through ; 
They thus complete their set at home, 

By making one at you. 

I, of my '' Spenser" quite bereft, 

Last winter sore was shaken ; 
Of '' Lamb" I've but a quarter left, 

Nor could I save my '' Bacon ;" 
And then I saw my " Crabbe" at last, 

Like Hamlet backward go ; 
And, as the tide was ebbing fast. 

Of course I lost my " Rowe." 

My •' Mallet" served to knock me down, 

Which makes me thus a talker ; 
And once, when I was out of town. 

My " Johnson" proved a '' Walker." 
While studying o'er the fire one day. 

My " Hobbs," amidst the smoke. 
They bore my " Colman" clean away. 

And carried ofi* my '' Coke." 

They picked my '' Locke," to me far more 

Than Bramah's patent worth. 
And now my losses I deplore, 

Without a " Home" on earth. 



182 ART OF BOOK KEEPING. 

If once a book jou'll let them lift. 

Another thej conceal, 
For though I caught them steahng '^ Swift," 

As swiftly went my '' Steele." 

'' Hope" is not now upon my shelf, 

Where late he stood elated ; 
But, what is strange, my " Pope" himself 

Is excommunicated. 
My little '' Suckling" in the grave 

Is sunk to swell the ravage ; 
And what was Crusoe's fate to save, 

^Twas mine to lose — a " Savage." 

Even "Glover's" works I cannot put 

My frozen hands upon, 
Though ever since I lost my " Foot" 

My " Bunyan" has been gone. 
My "Hoyle" with '^ Cotton" went oppressed, 

My " Taylor,'' too, must fail; 
To save my '' Goldsmith" from arrest, 

In vain I offered " Bayle." 

I Prior sought, but could not see 

The " Hood" so late in front ; 
And when I turned to hunt for " Lee," 

! where was my '' Leigh Hunt ?" 
I tried to laugh, old care to tickle. 

Yet could not '' Tickle" touch ; 
And then, alack ! I missed my ' ' Mickle j" 

And surely Mickle's much. 

'Tis quite enough my griefs to feed. 
My sorrows to excuse, 



DOG DAYS. 183 

To think I cannot read my " Reid," 

Nor even use mj '' Hughes." 
My classics would not quiet lie, 

A thing so fondly hoped ; 
Like Dr. Primrose, I may cry 

My " Livy" has eloped. 

My life is ebbing fast away ; 

I suffer from these shocks, 
And though I fixed a look on '^ Gray," 

There's gray upon my locks ; 
I'm far from " Young," am growing pale ; 

I see my " Butler" fly ; 
And when they ask about my ail, 

'Tis " Burton" I reply. 

They still have made me slight returns, 

And thus my griefs divide ; 
For ! they cured me of my " Burns," 

And eased my " Akenside." 
But all I think I shall not say, 

!Nor let my anger burn, 
For, as they never found me " Gray," 

They have not left me " Sterne." 



DOG DAYS. 

Most doggedly I do maintain, 
And hold the dogma true — 

That four-legged dogs although we see. 
We've some that walk on two. 



184 DOa DAYS. 

Among them there are clever dogs ; 

A few you'd reckon mad ; 
While some are very jolly dogs, 

And others very sad. 

You've heard of Bogs, who. early taught, 
Catch halfpence in the mouth ; 

But we've a long-tailed Irish Dog, 
With feats of larger growth. 

Of Dogs who merely halfpence snatch 

The admiration ceases, 
For he grows saucy, sleek, and fat, 

By swallowing penny-pieces ! 

He's practising some other feats. 
Which time will soon reveal ; 

One is, to squeeze an Orange flat. 
And strip it of its Peel. 

The next he'll find a toughish job 

For one so far in years ; 
He wants to pull an old House down, 

That's now propped up by Peers. 

Tve heard of physic thrown to dogs. 

And very much incline 
To think it true, for we've a pack. 

Who only ba7^k and iD{\\)ine. 

The Turnspit of the sad old days 

Is vain enough to boast. 
Although his " occupation's gone," 

He still could rule the roast. 



" BOXIANA." 185 

But turnspits now are out of date. 

We all despise the hack. 
And in the kitchen of the state 

We still prefer a Jack. 



" BOXIANA." 

I HATE the very name of box ; 

It fills me full of fears ; 
It 'minds me of the woes I've felt, 

Since I was young in years. 

They sent me to a Yorkshire school. 

Where I had many knocks ; 
For there my schoolmates loxed my ears, 

Because I couldn't box. 

I packed my box ; I picked the locks ; 

And ran away to sea ; 
And very soon I learnt to box 

The compass merrily. 

I came ashore — I called a coach, 

And mounted on the box ; 
The coach upset against a post, 

And gave me dreadful knocks. 

I soon got well ; in love I fell, 

And married Martha Cox ; 
To please her will, at famed Box hill, 

I took a country box. 



186 ON A ROYAL DEMISE. 

I had a pretty garden there, 
All bordered round with box ; 

But ah, alas ! there lived, next door, 
A certain Captain Knox. 

He took my wife to see the play ; — 
They had a private ho.v : 

I jealous grew, and from that day 
I hated Captain Knox. 

I sold my house — I left my wife ; — 
And went to Lawyer Fox ; 

Who tempted me to seek redress 
All from a jury box. 

I went to law, whose greedy maw 
Soon emptied my strong box ; 

I lost my suit, and cash to boot, 
All through that crafty Fox. 

The name of box I therefore dread, 
I've had so many shocks ; 

They'll never end — for when I'm dead, 
They'll nail me in a box. 



ON A ROYAL DEMISE. 

How Monarch s die is easily explained. 

And thus it might upon the Tomb be chiseled : 

" As long as George the Fourth could reign he reigned^ 
And then he mizzled.''^ 



A HAPPY NEW YEAR. 187 



A HAPPY NEW YEAR! 

" If the affairs of this -vrorld did not make us so sad, 
'Twould be easy enough to be merry." — Old Song. 

There is nothing but plague in this house ! 

There's the turbot is stole by the cat, 
The Newfoundland has eat up the grouse, 

And the haunch has been gnawed by a rat ! 
It's the day of all days when I wished 

That our friends should enjoy our good cheer • 
Mr. Wiggins — our dinner is dished — 

But I wish you a happy New Year ! 

Mr. Rudge has not called, but he will, 

For his rates, church, and highway, and poor ; 
And the butcher has brought in his bill — 

Twice as much as the quarter before. 
Little Charles is come home with the mumps, 

And Matilda with measles, I fear ; 
And I've taken two sov'reigns like dumps — 

But I wish you a happy New Year ! 

Your poor brother is in the Gazette, 

And your banker is off to New York ; 
Mr. Bigsby has died in your debt. 

And the "Wiggins" has foundered near Cork. 
Mr. Merrington's bill is come back ; 

You are chosen to serve overseer ; 
The new wall is beginning to crack — 

But I wish you a happy New Year ! 

The best dinner-set's fallen to the ground ; 
The militia's called out, and you're drawn ; 



188 A HAPPY NEW YEAR, 

Not a piece of our plate can be found, 

And there's marks of men's feet on the lawn ; 

Two anonymous letters have come, 

That declare you shall die like a Weare ; 

And it may — or may not — be a hum — 
But I wish you a happy N^w Year ! 

The old law-suit with Levy is lost ; 

You are fined for not cleansing the street ; 
And the water-pipe's burst with the frost, 

And the roof lets the rain in and sleet. 
Your old tenant at seventy-four 

Has gone off in the night with his gear, 
And has taken the key of the door — 

But I wish you a happy New Year ! 

There's the " Sun" and the '^ Phoenix" to pay, 

For the chimney has blazed like Old Nick ; 
The new gig has been jammed by a dray, 

And«,the old horse has taken to kick. 
We have hardly a bushel of small, 

And now coal is extravagant dear ; 
Your great coat is stole out of the hall — 

But I wish you a happy New Year ! 

The whole green-house is smashed by the hail. 

And the plants have all died in the night ; 
The magnolia's blown down by the gale, 

And the chimney looks far from upright ; 
And — the deuce take the man from the shop, 

That hung up the new glass chandelier ! — 
It has come, in the end, to one drop — 

But I wish you a happy New Year ! 



A HAPPY NEW YEAR. 189 

There's misfortune wherever we dodge — 

It's the same in the country and town ; 
There's the porter has burned down his lodge, 

While he went off to smoke at the Crown. 
The fat butler makes free with your wine, 

And the footman has drunk the strong beer, 
And the coachman can't walk in a line — 

But I wish you a happy New Year I 

I have doubts if your clerk is correct — 

There are hints of a mistress at Kew, 
And some day he'll abscond, I expect ; 

Mr. Brown has built out your back view ; 
The new housemaid's the greatest of flirts — 

She has men in the house, that is clear ; 
And the laundress has pawned all your shirts — 

But I wish you a happy New Year ! 

Your ''Account of a Visit to Rome," 
_ Not a critic on earth seems to laud ; 
And old Huggins has lately come home, 

And will swear that your Claude isn't Claude ; 
Your election is far from secure, 

Though it's likely to cost very dear j 
You're come out in a caricature — 

But I wish you a happy New Year ! 

You've been christened an ass in the Times, 

And the Chronicle calls you a fool ; 
And that dealer in boys, Dr. Ghrimes, 

Has engaged the next house for a school ; 
And the play-ground will run by the bower 

Which you took so much trouble to rear — 
We shall never have one quiet hour — 

But I wish you a happy New Year ! 



190 A BULL. 

Little John will not take to his book, 

He's come home black and blue from the cane ; 
There's your uncle is courting his cook, 

And jour mother has married again ! 
Jacob Jones will be tried with his wife, 

And against them you'll have to appear ; 
If they're hung you'll be wretched for life — 

But I wish you a happy New Year ! 



A BULL. 

One day — no matter where or when, 
Except 'twas after some Hibernian revel. 
For why ? an Irishman is ready then 

" To play the Devil"— 
•A Pat, whose surname has escaped the Bards, 
Agreed to play with Nick a game at cards. 

The stake, the same that the old Source of Sin 
From German Faustus, and his German cousins 

Had won by dozens ; 
The only one, in fact, he cares a pin 
To win. 

By luck or roguery of course old Nick 

Won every trick : 
The score was full, the last turn-up had done it— 

" Your soul — I've won it !" 

'' It's true for you, I've lost that same," 
Said Pat, a little hazy in his wits — 
" My soul is yours — but come — another game — ■ 
Double, or quits !" 



A CHARITY SERMON. 191 



A CHARITY SERMON. 

" I -would have walked many a mile to have communed with you ; and, believe me, 
1 wni shortly pay thee another visit ; hut my friends, I fancy, wonder at my stay ; so 
let me have the money immediately. Trulliber then put on a stern look, and cried 
out, ' Thou dost not intend to rob me?' " 

* « * * » 

"I Avould have thee know, friend," addressing himself to Adams, " I shall not learn 
my duty from such as thee. I know what charity is, better than to give to vagabonds." 

Joseph Andkews. 

I'm an extremely charitable man — no collar and long hair, 

though a little carrotty ; 
Demure, half-inclined to the unknown tongues, but I never 

gained anything by charity. 
I got a little boy into the Foundling, but his unfortunate 

mother was traced and baited, 
And the overseers found her out — and she found me out — 

and the child was affilicz/ec?. 

Oh, Charity will home come to roost — 
Like curses and chickens is Charity. 

I once, near Whitehall's very old wall, when ballads danced 

over the whole of it. 
Put a bad five-shilling-piece into a beggar's hat, but the old 

hat had got a hole in it ; 
And a little boy caught it in his little hat, and an officer's 

eye seemed to care for it, 
As my bad crown piece went through his bad crown piece, 

and they took me up to Queen's Square for it. 
Oh, Charity, etc. 

I let my very old (condemned) old house to a man at a 

rent that was shockingly low, 
So I found a roof for his ten motherless babes — all defunct 

and fatherless now ; 



192 A CHARITY SEEMON. 

For the plaguy one-sided party wall fell in, so did the roof, 

on son and daughter, 
And twelve jurymen sat on eleven bodies, and brought in a 

very personal verdict of manslaughter. 
Oh, Charity, etc. 

I picked up a young well-dressed gentleman, who had fallen 
in a fit in St. Martin's Court, 

And charitably offered to see him home — for charity always 
seemed to be my forte. 

And I've had presents for seeing fallen gentlemen boms, 
but this was a very unlucky job — 

Do you know, he got my watch, my purse, my handker- 
chief — for it was one of the swell mob. 
Oh, Charity, etc. 

Being four miles from town, I stopped a horse that had run 
away with a man, when it seemed that they must be 
dashed to pieces. 

Though several kind people were following him with all 
their might — but such following a horse his speed in- 
creases ; 

I held the horse while he went to recruit his strength ; and 
I meant to ride home, of course ; 

But the crowd came up and took me up — for it turned out 
the man had run away with the horse. 
Oh, Charity, etc. 

I watched last month all the drovers and drivers about the 

suburbs, for it's a positive fact. 
That I think the utmost penalty ought always to be enforced 

against everybody under Mr. Martin's act; 



SONNET. 193 

But I couldn't catch one hit over the horns, or over the 

shins, or on the ears, or over the head ; 
And I caught a rheumatism from early wet hours, and got 

five weeks of ten swelled fingers in bed. 
Oh, Charity, etc. 

Well, I've utterly done with Charity, though I used so to 
preach about its finest fount ; 

Charity may do for some that are more lucky, but / can't 
turn it to any account — 

It goes so the very reverse way — even if one chirrups it up 
with a dust of piety ; 

That henceforth, let it be understood, I take my name en- 
tirely out of the list of subscribers to the Humane 
Society. 

Oh, Charity, etc. 



SONNET. 

" Sweet to the sweet — farewell." — Hamlet. 

Time was I liked a cheesecake well enough ; 
All human children have a sweetish tooth ; 
I used to revel in a pie, or pufi", 
Or tart — we all are tarter s in our youth ; 
To meet with jam or jelly was good luck, 
All candies most complacently I crumped, 
A stick of liquorice was good to suck. 
And sugar was as often liked as lumped ; 
On treacle's '-'- linked sweetness long drawn out," 
Or honey, I could feast like any fly ; 
I thrilled when lollipops were hawked about. 
How pleased to compass hardbake or bull's-eye, 
How charmed if Fortune in my power cast 
Elecampane — but that campaign is past ! 
9 



194 THE CIGAR. 



THE CIGAR. 

" Here comes Mr. Puff," — The Critic. 
"I knew by the smoke that so gracefully curled." — Moobe. 

Some sigh for this and that, 
Mj wishes don't go far, 

The world may wag at will, 
So I have my cigar. 

Some fret themselves to death 
With Whig and Tory jar ; 

I don't care which is in, 
So I have my cigar. 

Sir John requests my vote, 
And so does Mr. Marr ; 

I don't care how it goes, 
So I have my cigar. 

Some want a German row, 
Some wish a Russian war; 

I care not — I'm at peace, 
So I have my cigar. 

I never see the Post, 
I seldom read the Star ; 

The Globe I scarcely heed. 
So I have my cigar. 

They tell me that Bank Stock 
Is sunk much under par ; 

It's all the same to mc, 
So I have my cigar. 



THE CIGAR. 195 

Honors have come to men 

My juniors at the Bar ; 
No matter — I can wait, 

So I have my cigar. 

Ambition frets me not ; 

A cab or glory's car 
Are just the same to me, 

So I have my cigar. 

I worship no vain gods, 

But serve the household Lar ; 
I'm sure to be at home. 

So I have my cigar. 

I do not seek for fame, 

A General with a scar ; 
A private let me be, 

So I have my cigar. 

To have my choice among 

The toys of life's bazaar, 
The deuce may take them all. 

So I have my cigar. 

Some minds are often tost 

By tempests like a tar ; 
I always seem in port. 

So I have my cigar. 

The ardent flame of love 

My bosom cannot char, 
I smoke, but do not burn, 

So I have my cigar. 



196 BACKINa THE FAVORITE. 

They tell me Nancy Low 
Has married Mr. E,. ; 

The jilt ! but I can live, 
So I have my cigar. 



BACKING THE FAVORITE ! 

OHj a pistol, or a knife ! 
For I'm weary of my life ; 

My cup has nothing sweet left to flavor it ; 
My estate is out at nurse, 
And my heart is like my purse — 

And all through backing of the Favorite ! 

At dear 0' Neil's first start, 
I sported all my heart ; 

Oh, Becher, he never marred a braver hit 1 
For he crossed her in her race, 
And made her lose her place, 

And there was an end of that Favorite ! 

Anon, to mend my chance. 
For the goddess of the Dance* 

I pined, and told my enslaver it ; 
But she wedded in a canter, 
And made me a Levanter, 

In foreign lands to sigh for the Favorite ! 



* The late favorite of the King's Theatre, who left the pas senl of life, 
for a perpetual Ball. Is not that her effigy now commonly borne about by 
the Italian image-venders — an ethereal form holding .a wreath with both 
hands above her head — and her husband, in emblem, beneath her foot ? 



THE PURSUIT OF LETTERS. 197 

Then next Miss M. A. Tree 
I adored, so sweetly she 

Could warble like a nightingale and quaver it ; 
But she left that course of life 
To be Mr. Bradshaw's wife, 

And all the world lost on the Eavorite ! 

But out of sorrow's surf, 
Soon I leaped upon the turf, 

Where Fortune loves to wanton it and waver it ; 
But standing on the pet, 
" Oh, my bonny, bonny Bet !" 

Black and yellow pulled short up with the Favorite ! 

Thus flung by all the crack, 
I resolved to cut the pack ; 

The second-raters seemed then a safer hit ! 
So I laid my little odds 
Against Memnon ! Oh, ye gods ! 

Am I always to be floored by the Favorite ! 



THE PUESUIT OF LETTERS. 

The Germans for Learning enjoy great repute ; 
But the English make Letters still more a pursuit ; 
For a Cockney will go from the banks of the Thames 
To Cologne for an O, and to Nassau for M's. 



198 THE UNITED FAMILY. 



THE UNITED FAMILY. 

"We stick at nine." — Mks. Battle. 

" Thrice to thine, 
And thrice to mine, 
And thrice again, 
To make up nine." 

The Weird Sisters in Macbeth. 

How oft in families intrudes 
The demon of domestic feuds ; 
One liking this, one hating that, 
Each snapping each, like dog and cat, 
With divers bents, and tastes perverse, 
One's bliss, in fact, another's curse ; 
How seldom anything we see 
Like our united family ! 

Miss Brown of chapels goes in search, 
Her sister Susan likes the church ; 
One plays at cards, the other don't ; 
One will be gay, the other won't ; 
In prayer and preaching one persists, 
The other sneers at Methodists ; 
On Sundays even they .can't agree, 
Like our united family. 

There's Mr. Bell, a Whig at heart, 
His lady takes the Tories' part. 
While William, junior^ nothing loth, 
Spouts Radical against them both. 
One likes the News, one takes the Age, 
Another buys the unstamped page ; 
They all say /, and never we. 
Like our united family. 



THE UNITED FAMILY. 199 

Not SO "with US ; — with equal zeal 
We all support Sir Robert Peel ; 
Of Wellington our mouths are full, 
We dote on Sundays on John Bull ; 
W^ith Pa and Ma on self-same side, 
02ir house has never to divide ; 
No opposition members be 
In our 'united family. 

Miss Pope her '' Light Guitar" enjoys. 
Her father " cannot bear the noise," 
Her mother's charmed with all her songs, 
Her brother jangles with the tongs : 
Thus discord out of music springs, 
The most unnatural of things, 
Unlike the genuine harmony 
In our united family ! 

We all on vocal music dote, 

To each belongs a tuneful throat, 

And all prefer that Irish boon 

Of melody—" The Young May Moon;" 

By choice we all select the harp, 

Nor is the voice of one too sharp. 

Another flat — all in one key 

Is our united family. 

Miss Powell likes to draw and paint. 
But then — it would provoke a saint — 
Her brother takes her sheep for pigs. 
And says her trees are periwigs. 
Pa praises all, black, blue, or brown ; 
And so does Ma — but upside down ! 
They cannot with the same eyes see, 
Like our united family. 



200 THE UNITED FAMILY. 

Miss Patterson has been to France, 
Her heart's delight is in a dance ; 
The thing her brother cannot bear, 
So she must practise with a chair. 
Then at a waltz her mother w^inks ; 
But Pa says roundly what he thinks, 
All dos-a-dos, not vis-a-vis, 
Like our united family. 

We none of us that whirling love, 
Which both our parents disapprove ; 
A hornpipe we delight in more, 
Or graceful Minuet de la Cour, 
A special favorite with Mamma, 
Who used to dance it with Papa ; 
In this we still keep step, you see, 
In our united family. 

Then books — to hear the Cobbs' debates ! 
One worships Scott — another hates ; 
Monk Lewis, Ann fights stoutly for, 
And Jane likes " Bunyan's Holy War." 
The father on MacCulloch pores, 
The mother says all books are bores ; 
But blue serene as heaven are we, 
In our united family. 

We never wrangle to exalt 

Scott, Banim, Bulwer, Hope, or Gait, 

We care not whether Smith or Hook, 

So that a novel be the book ; 

And in one point we all are fast. 

Of novels we prefer the last — 

In that the very Heads agree 

In our united family ! 



THE UNITED FAMILY. 201 

To turn to graver matters still, 
How much we see of sad self-will I 
Miss Scrope, with brilliant views in life. 
Would be a poor lieutenant's wife ; 
A- lawyer has her pa's good word, 
Her ma has looked her out a lord ; 
What would they not all give to be 
Like our united family ! 

By one congenial taste allied, 

Our dreams of bliss all coincide ; 

We're all for solitudes and cots, 

And love, if we may choose our lots — 

As partner in the rural plan, 

Each paints the same dear sort of man ; 

One heart alone there seems to be 

In our united family. 

One heart, one hope, one wish, one mind- 
One voice, one choice, all of a kind ; 
And can there be a greater bliss — 
A little heaven on earth — than this? 
The truth to whisper in your ear. 
It must be told 1 — we are not near 
The happiness that ought to be 
In our united family ! 

Alas ! 'tis our congenial taste 

That lays our little pleasures waste ; — 

We all delight, no doubt, to sing. 

We all delight to touch the string. 

But where's the harp that nine may touch ? 

And nine " May Moons" are eight too much; 

Just fancy nine, all in one key, 

Of our united family ! 



202 THE UNITED FAMILY. 

The play — how we love a play ! 
But half the bliss is shorn away ; 
On winter nights we venture nigh, 
But think of houses in July ! 
Nine crowded in a private box, 
Is apt to pick the stiffest locks ; 
Our curls would all fall out, though we 
Are one united family ! 

In art the self-same line we walk. 
We all are fond of heads in chalk, 
"We one and all our talent strain 
Adelphi prizes to obtain ; 
Nine turbaned Turks are duly sent, 
But can the Royal Duke present 
Nine silver palettes — no, not he — ■ 
To our united family ? 

Our eating shows the very thing, 
We all prefer the liver-wing, 
Asparagus when scarce and thin. 
And peas directly they come in; 
The marrow -bone — if there be one — 
The ears of hare when crisply done, 
The rabbit's brain — we all agree 
In our united family. 

In dress the same result is seen. 

We all so doat on apple-green ; 

But nine in green would seem a school 

Of charity to quizzing fool ; 

We cannot all indulge our will 

With " that sweet silk on Ludgate Hill," 

No remnant can sufficient be 

For our united family. 



EPIGRAM. 203 

In reading, hard is still our fate ; 
One cannot read o'er looked hj eight, 
And nine " Disowned" — nine " Pioneers," 
Nine " Chaperons," nine "Buccaneers," 
Nine " Maxwells," nine " Tremaines," and such, 
Would dip into our means too much ; 
Three months are spent o'er volumes three, 
In our united family. 

Unhappy Muses ! if the Nine 
Above in doom with us combine ; 
In vain we breathe the tender flame, 
Our sentiments are all the same, 
And nine complaints addressed to Hope 
Exceed the editorial scope ; 
One in, and eight put out, must be 
Of our united family ! 

But this is naught — of deadlier kind 
A ninefold woe remains behind. 
why were we so art and part ? 
So like in taste, so one in heart ? 
Nine cottages may be to let. 
But here's the thought to make us fret, 
We cannot each add Frederic B. 
To our united family. 



EPIGRAM. 



Aftee such years of dissension and strife. 
Some wonder that Peter should weep for his wife ; 
But his tears on her grave are nothing surprising- 
He's laying her dust, for fear of its rising. 



204 THE VOLUNTEER. 



THE yOLTJNTEER. 

" The clashing of my armor in my ears 
Sounds like a passing bell ; my buckler puts me 
In mind of a bier ; this, my broadsword, a pickaxe 
To dig my grave." The Lover'' s Progress. 

'TwAS in that memorable year 
France threatened to put off in 
Flat-bottomed boats, intending each 
To be a British coffin, 
To make sad widows of our wives. 
And every babe an orphan : — 

When coats were made of scarlet cloaks, 

And heads were dredged with flour, 

I listed in the Lawyers' Corps, 

Against the battle-hour ; 

A perfect Volunteer — for why ? 

I brought my " will and power." 

One dreary day — a day of dread. 

Like Cato's, over-cast — 

About the hour of six (the morn 

And I were breaking fast), 

There came a loud and sudden sound 

That struck me all aghast ! 

A dismal sort of morning roll, 
That was not to be eaten : 
Although it was no skin of mine, 
But parchment that was beaten, 
I felt tattooed through all my flesh, 
Like any Otaheitan. 



THE VOLUNTEER. 205 

My jaws with utter dread enclosed 

The morsel I was munching, 

And terror locked them up so tight, 

My very teeth went crunching 

All through my bread and tongue at oncej 

Like sandwich made at lunching. 

My hand, that held the tea-pot fast, 

Stiffened, but yet unsteady, 

Kept pouring, pouring, pouring o'er 

The cup in one long eddy. 

Till both my hose were marked with tea^ 

As they were marked already. 

I felt my visage turn from red 
To white — from cold to hot ; 
But it was nothing wonderful 
My color changed, I wot, 
For, like some variable silks, 
I felt that I was shot. 

And, looking forth with anxious eye, 

From my snug upper story, 

I saw our melancholy corps, 

Groing to beds all gory ; 

The pioneers seemed very loth 

To axe their way to glory. 

The captain marched as mourners march, 
The ensign too seemed lagging. 
And many more, although they were 
No ensigns, took to flagging — 
Like corpses in the Serpentine, 
Methought they wanted dragging. 



206 THE VOLUNTEER. 

But while I watched, the thought of death 

Came like a chilly gust, 

And lo ! I shut the window down, 

With very little lust 

To join so many marching men, 

That soon might be March dust. 

Quoth I, " Since Fate ordains it so, 

Our foe the coast must land on;" — 

I felt so warm beside the fire 

I cared not to abandon ; 

Our hearths and homes are always things 

That patriots make a stand on. 

'* The fools that fight abroad for home," 
Thought I, ' ' may get a wrong one ; 
Let those that have no homes at all, 
Go battle for a long one." 
The mirror here confirmed me this 
Reflection, by a strong one. 

For there, where I was wont to shave, 
And deck me like Adonis, 
There stood the leader of our foes, 
With vultures for his cronies — 
No Corsican, but Death himself, 
The Bony of all Bonies. 

A horrid sight it was, and sad 
To see the grisly chap 
Put on my crimson livery, 
And then begin to clap 
My helmet on — ah me ! it felt 
Like any felon's cap. 



THE FALL OF THE DEER. 207 

Mj plume seemed borrowed from a hearse. 

An undertaker's crest ; 

Mj epaulettes like coffin-plates ; 

Mj belt so heavy pressed, 

Four pipe-clay cross-roads seemed to lie 

At once upon my breast. 

My brazen breast-plate only lacked 

A little heap of salt, 

To make me like a corpse full dressed, 

Preparing for the vault — 

To set up what the Poet calls 

My everlasting halt. 

This funeral show inclined me quite 

To peace : — and here I am ! 

While better lions go to war, 

Enjoying with the lamb 

A lengthened life, that might have been 

A martial epigram. 



THE FALL OF THE DEER. 

[from an old MS.] 

Now the loud Crye is up, and harke ! 
The barkye Trees give back the Bark ! 
The House Wyfe heares the merrie rout. 
And runnes — and lets the beere run out. 
Leaving her Babes to weepe — for why ? 
She likes to heare the Deer Dogges crye. 
And see the wild Stag how he stretches 



208 THE FALL OF THE DEER. 

The naturall Buck-skin of liis Breeches, 
Running like one of Human kind, 
Dogged by fleet BailifFes close behind — 
As if he had not pajde his Bill 
For Yen' son, or was owing still 
For his two Homes, and soe did get 
Over his Head and Ears in Debt ; — 
"Wherefore he strives to paye his Waye 
With his long Legges the while he maje ;- 
But he is chased, like Silver Dish, 
As well as anye Hart may wish. 
Except that one whose Heart doth beat 
So faste it hasteneth his feet ; — 
And runninge soe, he holdeth Death 
Eour Feet from him — till his Breath 
Faileth, and slacketh Pace at last. 
From runninge slow he standeth faste. 
With hornie Bayonettes at baye, 
To baying Dogges around, and they 
Pushing him sore, he pusheth sore, 
And goreth them that seek his Gore — 
Whatever Dogge his Home doth rive 
Is dead — as sure as he's alive ! 
Soe that couracceous Hart doth fisht 
With Fate, and calleth up his might. 
And standeth stout that he maye fall . 
Bravelye, and be avenged of all, 
Nor like a Craven yeeld his Breath 
Under the Jawes of Dos!;a;es and Death ! 



A RISE AT THE FATHER OF ANGLING. 209 



A RISE AT THE FATHER OF ANGLING. 

The memory of Izaak Walton has hitherto floated down 
the stream of time without even a nibble at it; but, alas ! 
where is the long line so pure and even that does not come 
sooner or later to have a w^eak length detected in it ? The 
severest critic of Moliere was an old woman; and now a 
censor of the same sex takes upon herself to tax the im- 
mortal work of our Piscator, with holding out an evil 
temptation to the rising generation. Instead of concurring 
in the general admiration of his fascinating pictures of fish- 
ing, she boldly asserts that the rod has been the spoiling of 
her child ; and insists that in calling the Angler gentle and 
inoffensive, the Author was altogether wrong in his dtib- 
hing. To render her strictures more attractive, she has 
thrown them into a poetical form ; having probably learned 
by experience that a rhyme at the end of a line is a very 
taking bait to the generality of readers. Hark ! how she 
rates the meek Palmer, whom Winifred Jenkins would have 
called '' an angle upon earth." 

TO ME. IZAAK WALTON, AT MR. MAJOR'S THE BOOKSELLER'S, 

IN FLEET STREET. 

Mr. Walton, it's harsh to say it, but as a Parent I can't 
help wishing 

You'd been hung before you published your book, to set all 
the young people a fishing ! 

There's my Robert, the trouble I've had with him it sur- 
passes a mortal's bearing, 

And all throuo;h those devilish ano-lino; works — the Lord 
forgive me for swearing ! 

I thought he were took with the Morbus one day, I did, with 
his nasty angle ! 



210 A EISB AT THE FATHER OF ANGLING. 

For ''oh dear," sajs lie, and burst out in a cry, '' oh my 

gut is all got of a tangle 1" 
It's a shame to teach a young boy such words — whose blood 

wouldn't chill in their veins 
To hear him, as I overheard him one day, a-talking of blow- 
ing out brains ? * 
And didn't I quarrel with Sally the cook, and a precious 

scold I give her, 
" Ho AY dare you," says I, '' for to stench the whole house 

by keeping that stinking liver?" 
'Twas enough to breed a fever, it w^as ! they smelt it next 

door at the Bagots ; 
But it wasn't breeding a fever — not it ! 'twas my son was 

a-breeding of maggots ! 
I declare that I couldn't touch meat for a week, for it all 

seemed tainting and going, 
And after turning my stomach so, they turned to blue-flies, 

all buzzing and blowing. 
Boys are nasty enough, goodness knows, of themselves, 

without putting live things in their craniums ; 
Well, what next ? but he pots a whole cargo of worms along 

with my choice geraniums. 
And another fine trick, though it wasn't found out, till the 

housemaid had given us warning, 
He fished at the golden fish in the bowl, before we were up 

and down in the morning. 
I'm sure it was lucky for Ellen, poor things that she'd got 

so attentive a lover, 
As bring her fresh fish when the others deceased, which they 

did a dozen times over ! 



* Chewing and spitting out (bullock's) brains into the water for ground- 
bait is called blowing of drains. — Salter's Angler'' s Guide. 



A RISE AT THE FATHER OF ANGLING. 211 

Then a whole new loaf was short ! for I know, of course, 

when our bread goes faster — 
And I made a stir, with the bill in my hand, and the man 

was sent off by his master. 
But, oh dear, I thought I should sink through the earth, 

with the weight of my own reproaches ; 
For my own pretty son had made away with the loaf, to 

make pastry to feed the roaches ! 
I vow I've suffered a martyrdom — with all sorts of frights 

and terrors surrounded ! 
For I never saw him go out of the doors but I thought he'd 

come home to me drownded. 
And, sure enough, I set out one fine Monday to visit my 

married daughter, 
And there he was standing at Sadler's Wells, a-performing 

with real water. 
It's well he was off on the further side, for I'd have brained 

him else with my patten, 
For I thought he was safe at school, the young wretch ! a 

studying Greek and Latin. 
And my ridicule basket he'd got on his back, to carry his 

fishes and gentles ; 
With a belt I knew he'd made fi-om the belt of his father's 

regimentals. 
Well, I poked his rods and lines in the fire, and his father 

gave him a birching, 
But he'd gone too far to be easy cured of his love for chub- 
bin g and perching. 
One night he never came home to tea, and although it vfas 

dark and dripping, 
His father set off to Wapping, poor man ! for the boy had 

a turn for shipping ; 



212 A RISE AT THE FATHER OF ANGLING. 

As for me I set up, and I sobbed and I cried for all the 

world like a babbj. 
Till at twelve o'clock he rewards mj fears with two gudgings 

from Waltham Abbej ! 
And a pretty sore throat and fever he caught, that brought 

me a fortnight's hard nussing, 
Till I thought I should go to my grej-haired grave, worn 

out with the frettino; and fussino;; 
But at last he was cured, and we did have hopes that the 

fishing was cured as well, 
But no such luck ! not a week went by, before we'd another 

such spell. 
Though he never had got a penny to spend, for such was 

our strict intentions, 
Yet he was soon set up in tackle again, for all boys have 

such quick inventions : 
And I lost my Lady's own Pocket Book; in spite of all my 

hunting and poking, 
Till I found it chuck-full of tackles and hooks, and besides 

it had had a good soaking. 
Then one Friday morning, I gets a summoning note from a 

sort of law attorney. 
For the boy had been trespassing people's grounds while 

his father was gone on a journey. 
And I had to go and hush it all up by myself, in an ojEce 

at Ilatton Garden ; 
And to pay for the dampge he'd done, to boot, and to beg 

some strange gentleman's pardon. 
And wasn't he once fished out himself, and a man had to 

dive to find him ? 
And I saw him brought home with my motherly eyes and 

a mob of people behind him ? 



A RISE xiT THE FATHER OF ANGLING. 213 

Yes, it took a full hour to rub liim to life — whilst I was 

a-screaming and raving, 
And a couple of guineas it cost us besides, to reward the 

humane man for his saving. 
And didn't Miss Crump leave us out of her will, all along; 

of her taking; dudg;eon 
At her favorite cat being choked, poor puss, with a hook 

sewed up in a gudgeon ? 
And old Brown complained that he plucked his live foAvls, 

and not without show of reason. 
For the cocks looked naked about necks and tails, and it 

wasn't their moulting; season : 
And sure and surely, when we came to inquire, there was 

cause for their screeching and cackles, 
For the mischief confessed he had picked them a bit, for I 

think he called them the hackles. 
A prettj tussle Ave had about that ! but as if it w^arn't pick- 
ing; enouo'h, 
"When the winter comes on, to the muff-box I goes, just to 

shake out mj sable muff — 
'' mercjP' thinks I, " there's the moth in the house!" 

for the fur was all gone in patches ; 
And then at Ellen's chinchillj I look, and its state of de- 
struction just matches — 
But it wasn't no moth, Mr. Walton, but flies— sham flies 

to go trolling and trouting ; 
For his father's great coat was all safe and sound, and that 

first set me a-doubting;. 
A plague, say I, on all rods and lines, and on young or old 

watery danglers ! 
And after all that you'll talk of such stuff as no harm in 

the world about anglers ! 



214 "napoleon's midnight review." 

And when all is done, all our worry and fuss, why, weVe 

never had nothing worth dishing ; 
So you see, Mr. Walton, no good comes at last of your 

famous book about fishing. 
As for Robert's, I burnt it a twelvemonth ago ; but it turned 

up too late to be lucky. 
For he'd got it by heart, as I found to the cost of 

Your servant, 
Jane Elizabeth Stuckey. 



"NAPOLEON'S MIDNIGHT EEYIEW." 

A NEW VERSION. 

In his bed, bolt upright, 

In the dead of the night, 
The French Emperor starts like a ghost ! 

By a dream held in charm, 

He uplifts his right arm. 
For he dreams of reviewing his host. 

To the stable he glides, 

For the charger he rides ; 
And he mounts him, still under the spell ; 

Then with echoing tramp. 

They proceed through the camp, 
All intent on a task he loves well. 

Such a sight soon alarms, 

And the guards present arms, 
As he glides to the posts that they keep ; 

Then he gives the brief word, 

And the bugle is heard. 
Like a hound giving tongue in its sleep. 



''napoleon's midnight review." 215 

Next the drums they arouse, 

But with dull row-de-dows, 
And thej give but a somnolent sound ; 

While the foot and horse, both, 

Very slowly and loth, 
Begin drowsily mustering round. 

To the right and left hand, 

They fall in, by command, 
In a line that might be better dressed ; 

While the steeds blink and nod, 

And the lancers think odd 
To be roused like the spears from their rest. 

With their mouth of wide shape. 

Mortars seem all agape. 
Heavy guns look more heavy with sleep ; 

And, whatever their bore, 

Seem to think it one more 
In the night such a field-day to keep. 

Then the arms, christened small, 

Fire no volley at all. 
But go oJ8f, like the rest, in a doze ; 

And the eagles, poor things, 

Tuck their heads 'neath their wings. 
And the band ends in tunes through the nose. 

Till each pupil of Mars 

Takes a wink like the stars — 
Open order no eye can obey : 

If the plumes in their heads 

Were the feathers of beds. 
Never top could be sounder than they ! 



216 POETRY, PROSE, AND WORSE. 

So, just wishing good night, 

Bows Napoleon polite ; 
But instead of a lojal endeavor 

To reply with a cheer, 

Not a sound met his ear, 
Though each face seemed to saj, '^ Nap for ever 



POETEY, PROSE, AND WORSE. 

" Esaad Kiuprili solicited in verse permission to resign the government of Caudia, 
The Grand Vizier, Hafiz Pasha, addressed a GJiazel to the Sultan to urge the necessity 
of greater activity in military preparations ; and Murad, himself a poet, answered 
likewise in rhj-me. Gliazi Gherai clothed in Ghazels his official complaint to the Sul- 
tan's preceptor. The Grand Vizier, Mustafa Pasha Bahir, made his reports to the 
Sultan in verse." — Vide Von PIammes on Othoman Literature^ in the Athenoeum for 
Nov. 14, 1835. 

Turkey 1 how mild are thy manners. 
Whose greatest and highest of men 

Are all proud to be rhymers and scanners, 
And wield the poetical pen I 

Thy Sultan rejects — he refuses — 
Gives orders to bowstring his man ; 

But he still will coquet with the Muses, 
And make it a song if he can. 

The victim cut shorter for treason. 

Though conscious himself pf no crime^ 

Must submit, and believe there is reason 
Whose sentence is turned into rhyme ! 

He bows to the metrical firman. 

As dulcet as song of the South, 
And his head, like self-satisfied German, 

Bolls oif with its pipe* in its mouth. 



POETRY, PROSE, AND WORSE. 217 

A tax would the Lord of the Crescent ? 

He levies it still in a lay. 
And is perhaps the sole Bard at this present 

Whose Poems are certain to pay. 

State edicts unpleasant to swallow 

He soothes with the charms of the Muse, 

And begs rays of his brother Apollo 
To gild bitter pills for the Jews. 

When Jealousy sets him in motion, 
The fair one on whom he looks black, 

He sews up with a sonnet to Ocean, 
And sends her to drown in her sack. 

His gifts, they are poesies latent 

With sequins rolled up in a purse, 
And in making Bashaws, by the patent 

Their tails are all ^' done into verse." 

He sprinkles with lilies and roses 

The path of each politic plan. 
And, with eyes of Gazelles, discomposes 

The beards of the solemn Divan. 

The Czar he defies in a sonnet. 

And then a fit nag to endorse 
With his Pegasus, jingling upon it, 

Reviews all his Mussulman horse. 

He sends a short verse, ere he slumbers. 

Express unto Meer Ali Beg, 
Who returns in poetical numbers 

The thousands that die of the plague. 
10 



218 POETRYj PROSE, AND WORSE. 

He writes to the Bej of a citj 

In tropes of heroical sound, 
And is told in a pastoral ditty 

The place is burnt down to the ground. 

He sends a. stern summons, but flowery, 
To Melek Pasha, for some wrong, 

Who describes the dark eyes, of his Houri, 
And throws off his yoke with a song. 

His Vizier presents him a trophy, 
Still, Mars to Calliope weds — 

With an amorous hymn to St. Sophy, 
A hundred of pickled Greek heads. 

Each skull with a turban upon it 

By Royal example is led : 
Even Mesrour the Mute has a Sonnet 

To Silence composed in his head. 

E'en Hassan, while plying his hammer 
To punish short weight to the poor, 

With a stanza attempts to enamor 
The ear that he nails to a door. 

! would that we copied from Turkey 
In this little Isle of our own ; 

Where the times are so muddy and murky, 
Yf e want a poetical tone ! 

Suppose that the Throne in addresses — 
For verse there is plenty of scope — 

In alluding to native distresses, 

Just quoted the " Pleasures of Hope." 



POETRY, PROSE, AND WORSE. 219 



Methinks 'twould enliven and chirp us, 

So dreary and dull is the time, 
Just to keep a State Poet on purpose 

To put the King's speeches in rhyme. 

When bringing new measures before us, 

As bills for the Sabbath or poor, 
Let both Houses just chant them in chorus. 

And perhaps thej would get an encore ! 

No stanzas invite to pay taxes 

In notes like the notes of the south ; 

But we're dunned by a fellow what axes 
With prose and a pen in his mouth. 

Suppose — as no payers are eager — 
Hard times and a struggle to live — 

That he sung at our doors like a beggar 
For what one thought proper to give ? 

Our Law is of all things the dryest 
That earth in its compass can show ! 

Of poetical efforts its highest 

The rhyming its Doe with its Roe. 

No documents tender and silky 

Are writ such as poets would pen, 
When a beadle is sent after Wilkie,* 

Or bailiffs to very shy men. 

* Vide tlie advertisement of " The Parisli Beadle after Wilkie," issued loj 
Moon & Co. 



220 POETRY, PROSE, AND WORSE. 

The warrants that put in distresses 
When rates have been owing too long, 

Should appear in poetical dresses, 
Ere goods be sold off for a song. 

Suppose that — Law making its choices 
Of Bishop, Hawes, Rodwell, or Cooke — 

They were all set as glees for four voices, 
To sing all offenders to book ? 

Our criminal code's as untender, 
All prose in its legal dispatch, 

And no constables seize an offender 
While pleasantly singing a catch. 

They haul him along like a heifer. 

And tell him, " My covey, you'll swing !" 

Not a hint that the wanton young zephyr 
Will fan his shoe-soles with her wing. 

The trial has nothing that's rosy 

To soften the prisoner's pap. 
And Judge Park appears dreadfully prosy 

While dooming to death in his cap. 

Would culprits go into hysterics. 
Their spirits more likely elope. 

If the jury consulted in lyrics. 

The judge made a line of the rope? 

When men must be hung for a warning. 
How sweet if the Law would incline 

In the place of the '^ Eight in the Morning," 
To let them indulge in the Nine ! 



POETRY, PEOSE, AND WORSE. 221 

How pleasant if asked upon juries 

Bj Muses, thus mild as the doves, 
In the place of the Fates and the Furies 

That call us from home and our loves ! 

Our warfare is deadly and horrid, 

Its bald bulletins are in prose, 
And with gore made revoltingly florid, 

Not tinted with couleur de rose. 

How pleasant in army dispatches, 

In reading of red battle-plains, 
To alight on some pastoral, snatches, 

To sweeten the blood and the brains ! 

How sweet to be drawn for the Locals 

By songs setting valor a-gog ! 
Or be pressed to turn tar by sea- vocals 

Inviting — with '' Nothing like Grog !" 

To tenants but shortish at present, 
When Michaelmas comes with its day, 

! a landlord's effusion were pleasant 
That talked of the flowers in May ! 

How sweet if the bill that rehearses 
The debt we've incurred in the year, 

But enriched, as a copy of verses. 
The Gem, or a new Souvenir ! 

! would that we copied from Turkey 

In this little Isle of our own ! 
For the times are so moody and murky. 

We want a poetical tone ! 



222 THE FOELORN SHEPHERD'S COMPLAINT. 



THE FORLORN SHEPHERD'S COMPLAINT. 

AN UNPUBLISHED POEM FROM SIDNEY. 

It may be necessary to bespeak the indulgent considera- 
tion of the reader, for the appearance of the following 
curiosity in such a work. The truth is, the pages of the 
Comic Annual naturally present to me the most obvious 
means of making the Poem known ; besides, as it were, 
offering personal security for my own belief in its authen- 
ticity. And, considering my literary credit as so pledged, 
I do not hesitate to affirm that I think the effusion in ques- 
tion may confidently be referred to Sidney : and even — on 
the internal evidence of its pastoral character — to the Ar- 
cadia. The verses have never till now appeared in print. 
The lover of Old English Poetry would vainly hunt for it 
in any edition extant of the works of Sir Philip; and, 
probably, the family records and remains at Penshurst might 
be searched to as little purpose for a copy in MS. From 
the extreme quaintness of the original, w^hich would have 
required the help of a glossary to render it generally intel- 
ligible, I have thought it advisable to translate many of the 
phrases into more current language ; but scrupulously pre- 
serving the sense of the text. Enough of the peculiar 
style, however, still remains, to aid in forming a judgment 
of the author's sera. As for the apparent incongruity of 
the double vocation ascribed to the tuneful Swain in the 
Poem, besides abundant classical evidence that the Cory- 
dons of ancient times w^ere often, also, heroes, or warriors, 
or adventurers, we have the positive contemporary testi- 
mony of modern travellers, that in those very pastures where 



THE FORLORN SHEPHERD'S COMPLAINT. 223 

the scene is laid, it is at this day the practice to entrust the 
charge of the flocks to personages who have formerly been 
engaged in the same perilous career as the " Forlorn Shep- 
herd." His lament, it will be seen, is full of regrets and 
stealing tears for the stirring times of Auld Lang Syne. 

THE PORLORN SHEPHERD'S COMPLAIi^T. 

" Vell ! Here I am-^no Matter how it suits 
A-keeping company vith them dumb Brutes, 
Old Park vos no bad Judge — confound his vig ! 
Of vot vood break the Sperrit of a Prig ! 



'' The Like of Me, to come to New Sow Wales 
To go a-tagging arter Vethers' Tails, 
And valk in Herbage as delights the Flock, 
But stinks of Sweet Herbs vorser nor the Dock ! 

'' To get to sit this solitary Job 
To Von whose Vork vos alvay in a Mob ! 
It's out of all our Lines, for sure I am 
Jack Shepherd even never kep a Lamb ! 

'' I arn't ashamed to say I sit and veep 
To think of Seven Year of keepin Sheep, 
The spooniest Beast in Nater, all to Sticks, 
And not a Votch to take for all their Ticks ! 

^'If I'd foreseed how Transports vould turn out 
To only Baa ! and Botanize about, 
I'd quite as leaf have had the t'other Pull, 
And come to Cotton as to all this Vool ! 



224 THE FORLORN SHEPHERD'S COMPLAINT. 

'^ Yon only happy moment I have had 
Since here I come to be a Farmer's Cad, 
And then I cotched a vild Beast in a Snooze, 
And picked her Pouch of three young Kangaroos ! 

" Vot chance have I to go to Race or Mill ? 
Or show a sneaking Kindness for a Till ; 
And as for Vashings, on a hedge to dry, 
I'd put the Natives' Linen in my Eye ! 

'' If this whole Lot of Mutton I could scrag, 
And find a Fence to turn it into Swag, 
I'd give it all in Lonnon Streets to stand. 
And if I had my pick, I'd say the Strand ! 

'^ But ven I goes, as maybe vonce I shall, 
To my old Crib, to meet with Jack, and Sal, 
I've been so gallows honest in this Place, 
I shan't not hke to show my sheepish Face. 

'' Its wery hard for nothing but a Box 
Of Irish Blackguard to be keepin' Flocks, 
'Mong naked Blacks, sich Savages to hus. 
They've nayther got a Pocket nor a Pus. 

'' But folks may tell their Troubles till they're sick 
To dumb brute Beasts — and so I'll cut my Stick'! 
And vot's the Use a Feller's Eyes to pipe 
Yere one can't borrow any German's Yipe ?" 



CLUBS. 225 

CLUBS, 

TURNED UP BY A FEMALE HAND. 
"Clubs! Clubs! part'em! part'emi Clubs! Clxihsl"— Ancient Cries of London. 

Or all the modern schemes of Man 

That time has brought to bear, 
A plague upon the wicked plan 

That parts the wedded pair ! 
Mj female friends they all agree 

They hardly know their hubs 



) 



And heart and voice unite with me 
^' We hate the name of Clubs 1" 



One selfish course the Wretches keep ; 

They come at morning chimes, 
To snatch a few short hours of sleep — 

Rise — ^breakfast — read the Times — 
Then take their hats, and post away, 

Like Clerks or City scrubs, 
And no one sees them all the day — 

They live, eat, drink, at Clubs ! 

On what they say, and what they do. 

They close the Club-House gates ; 
But one may guess a speech or two. 

Though shut from their debates ; 
" The Cook's a hasher — nothing more- 

The Children noisy grubs — 
A Wife's a quiz, and home's a bore" — 

Yes — that's the style at Clubs ! 
10* 



226 CLUBS. 

With Rundle, Doctor K., or Glasse, 

And such Domestic Books, 
They once put up — but now alas ! 

It's he J ! for foreign cooks ! 
" When ID ill you dine at home, my Dove ? ^ 

I say to Mister Stubbs — 
"When Cook can make an omelette, love — 

An omelette like the Club's !" 

Time was, their hearts were only placed 

On snug domestic schemes, 
The book for two — united taste — 

And such connubial dreams — 
Friends dropping in at close of day, 

To singles, doubles, rubs, 
A little music— then the tray — 

And not a word of Clubs ! 

But former comforts they condemn ; 

French kickshaws they discuss. 
They take their wine, the wine takes them, 

And then they favor us : — 
From some offence they can't digest j 

As cross as bears with cubs, 
Or sleepy, dull, and queer, at best — 

That's how they come from Clubs ! 

It's very fine to say '' Subscribe 

To Andrews' — can't you read?" 
When wives — the poor neglected tribe — 

Complain how they proceed! 
They'd better recommend at once 

Philosophy and tubs ; 
A woman need not be a dunce 

To feel the wrong of Clubs. 



CLUBS. 227 

A set of savage Goths and Picts, 

Would seek us now and then ; 
They're pretty pattern-Benedicts 

To guide our single men 1 
Indeed my daughters both declare 

" Their Beaux shall not be subs 
To White's, or Black's, or anywhere — 

They've seen enough of Clubs !" 

They say, ^' iDithout the marriage ties, 

They can devote their hours 
To catechize, or botanize — • 

Shells, Sunday-schools, and flowers — 
Or teach a Pretty Poll new words, 

Tend Covent-Garden shrubs, 
Nurse dogs and chirp to little birds — 

As Wives do since the Clubs." 

Alas ! for those departed days 

Of social wedded life, 
When married folks had married ways, 

And lived like Man and Wife ! 
Oh ! Wedlock then was picked by none — 

As safe a lock as Chubb' s ! 
But couples, that should be as one. 

Are now the Two of Clubs ! 

Of all the modern schemes of man 

That time has brought to bear, 
A plague upon the wicked plan 

That parts the wedded pair ! 
My female friends they all allow 

They meet with slights and snubs, 
And say, •' they have no husbands now — 

They're married to their Clubs!" 



228 LOED DURHAM S RETURN 



LORD DURHAM'S RETURN. 

" On revient toujours." — French Song. 

" And will I see Ms face again, 
And will I hear him speak ?" 

There's nae Luck about the House. 

'' The Inconstant is come !" it's in every man's mouth ; 
From the East to the West, from the North to the South ; 
With a flag at her head, and a flag at her stern ; 
While the Telegraph hints at Lord Durham's return. 

Turn wherever you will, it's the great talk and small ; 
Going up to Cornhill, going down to Whitehall ; 
If you ask for the news, it's the first you will learn, 
And the last you will lose, my Lord Durham's return. 

The fat pig in the sty, and the ox in the stall, 
The old dog at the door, and the cat on the wall ; 
The wild bird in the bush, and the hare in the fern, 
All appear to have heard of Lord Durham's return. 

It has flown all abroad, it is known to goose-pens, 

It is brayed by the ass, it is cackled by hens : 

The Pintadas, indeed, make it quite their concern. 

All exclaiming, " Come back !" at Lord Durham's return. 

It's the text over wine, and the talk after tea ; 
All are singing one tune, though not set in one key. 
E'en the Barbers unite, other gossip to spurn. 
While they lather away at Lord Durham's return. 



LORD DURHAM'S RETURN. 229 

All the Painters leave off, and the Carpenters go, 
And the Tailor above joins the Cobbler below, 
In whole gallons of beer to expend what they earn, 
While discussing one pint- — my Lord Durham's return. 

It is timed in the Times, with the News has a run, 
Goes the round of the Globe, and is writ in the Sun. 
Like the Warren on walls, fancy seems to discern. 
In great letters of chalk, " Try Lord Durham's return !" 

Not a murder comes out ; the reporters repine ; 

And a hanging is scarce worth a penny a line. 

If a Ghost reappeared with his funeral urn, 

He'd be thrown in the shade by Lord Durham's return. 

No arrival could raise such a fever in town ; 
There's talk about 'Change, of the Stocks going down; 
But the Butter gets up just as if in the churn. 
It forgot it should come in Lord Durham's return. 

The most silent are loud ; the most sleepy awake ; 
Very odd that one man such a bustle can make ! 
But the schools all break up, and both Houses adjourn. 
To debate more at ease on Lord Durham's return. 

Is he well ? is he ill ? is he cheerful or sad ? 
Has he spoken his mind of the breeze that he had ? 
It was rather too soon with home-sickness to yearn ; 
There will come something yet of Lord Durham's return. 

There's a sound in the wind since that ship is come home ; 
There are signs in the air like the omens of Home ; 
And the lamps in the street, and the stars as they burn, 
Seem to give a flare-up at Lord Durham's return ! 



230 THE ASSISTANT DRAPEES' PETITION. 



THE ASSISTANT DRAPERS' PETITION. 

"Now's the time, and now's the hour." — Bxiens. 
" Seven's the main." — Ceogkfokd. 

Of all the agitations of the time — and agitation is useful 
in disturbing the duckweed that is apt to gather on the 
surface of human affairs — the ferment of the assistant- 
shopmen in the metropolis is perhaps the most beneficial. 
Many vital queries have lately disturbed the public mind ; 
for instance, ought the fleet of the Thames Yacht Club to 
be reinforced, in the event of a war with Russia, or should 
the Little Pedlington Yeomanry be called out, in case of a 
rupture with Prussia ? But these are merely national 
questions ; whereas the Drapers' movement suggests an 
inquiry of paramount importance to mankind in general — 
namely, '' When ought w^e to leave off?" 

It is the standard complaint against jokers, and whist- 
players, and children, whether playing or crying — that they 
'' never know when to leave off." 

It is the common charge against English winters and 
flannel waistcoats — it is occasionally hinted of rich and 
elderly relations — it is constantly said of snuff-takers, and 
gentlemen who enjoy a glass of good wine — that they '' do 
not know when to leave off." 

It is the fault oftenest found with certain preachers, 
sundry poets, and all prosers, scolds, parliamentary orators, 
superannuated story-tellers, she-gossips, morning-callers, 
and some leave-takers, that they " do not know when to 
leave off." It is insinuated as to gowns and coats, of which 
waitino:-men and wai tin a;- women have the reversion. 

It is the characteristic of a Change Alley speculator — of 
a beaten boxer — of a builder's row, with his own name to 



THE ASSISTANT DRAPERS' PETITION. 231 

it—of Hollando-Belgic protocols — of German metaphysics 
— of works in numbers— of buyers and sellers on credit — 
of a theatrical cadence — of a shocking bad hat — and of the 
Gentleman's Magazine, that they " do not know when to 
leave oiE" 

A romp — all Murphy's frosts, showers, storms, and hur- 
ricanes — and the Wandering Jew, are in the same predica- 
ment. 

As regards the Assistant Drapers, they appear to have 
arrived at a very general conclusion, that their proper pe- 
riod for leavino; off is at or about seven o'clock in the even- 
ing ; and it seems by the following poetical address that 
they have rhyme, as well as reason, to offer in support of 
their resolution. 

THE DRAPERS' PETITION. 

Pity the sorrows of a class of men. 

Who, though they bow to fashion and frivolity, 

!N"o fancied claims, or woes fictitious, pen. 

But wrongs ell-wide, and of a lasting quality. 

Oppressed and discontented with our lot, 
Amono; the clamorous we take our station ; 

A host of Ribbon Men — yet is there not 
One piece of Irish in our agitation. 

We do revere Her Majesty the Queen, 
We venerate our Glorious Constitution 

We joy King William's advent should have been. 
And only w^ant a Counter Revolution. 

'Tis not Lord' Russell and his final measure, 

'Tis not Lord Melbourne's counsel to the throne, 

'Tis not this bill or that gives us displeasure, 
The measures we dislike are all our own. 



232 THE ASSISTANT DRAPERS' PETITION. 

The Cash Lavr the '' Great Western" loves to name, 
The tone our foreign policj pervading ; 

The Corn Laws — none of these we care to blame, 
Our evils we refer to over-tradins:. 

a 

Bj Tax or Tithe our murmurs are not drawn ; 

We reverence the Church — but hang the cloth ! 
We love her ministers — but curse the lawn ! 

We have, alas ! too much to do with both ! 

We love the sex ; — to serve them is a bliss ! 

We trust they find us civil, never surly ; 
All that we hope of female friends is this. 

That their last linen may be wanted early. 

Ah ! who can tell the miseries of men 

That serve the very cheapest shops in town ? 

Till, faint and weary, they leave off at ten, 
Knocked up by ladies beating of 'em down ! 

But has not Hamlet his opinion given — 

Hamlet had a heart for Drapers' servants ! 

"That custom is" — say custom after seven — 

"More honored in the breach than the observance.'' 

come then, gentle ladies, come in time. 

O'er whelm our counters, and unload our shelves ; 

Torment us all until the seventh chime. 
But let us have the remnant to ourselves ! 

We wish of knowledge to lay in a stock. 
And not remain in ignorance incurable ; 

To study Shakspeare, Milton, Dryden, Locke, 
And other fabrics that have proved so durable. 



RURAL FELICITY. 233 

We long for thoughts of intellectual kind. 
And not to go bewildered to our beds ; 
With stuff and fustian taking up the mind, 
. And pins and needles running in our heads ! 

Por oh 1 the brain gets very dull and dry, 

Selling from morn till night for cash or credit ; 

Or with a vacant face and vacant eye, 

Watching cheap prints that Knight did never edit. 

Till sick with toil, and lassitude extreme. 

We often think, when we are dull and vaporj, 

The bliss of Paradise was so supreme. 

Because that Adam did not deal in drapery. 



RURAL FELICITY. 



Well, the country's a pleasant place, sure enough, for 

people that's country born, 
And useful, no doubt, in a natural way, for growing our 

grass and our corn. 
It was kindly meant of my cousin Giles, to write and invite 

me down. 
Though as yet all I've seen of a pastoral life only makes 

one more partial to town. 

At first I thought I was really come down into all sorts of 

rural bliss. 
For Porkington Place, with its cows and its pigs, and its 

poultry, looks not much amiss ; 
There's something about a dairy farm, with its different 

kinds of live stock, 



234 RURAL FELICITY. 

That puts one in mind of Paradise, and Adam and his in- 
nocent flock ; 

But somehow the good old Eljsian fields have not been 
well handed down, 

And as yet I have found no fields to prefer to dear Leicester 
fields up in town. 

To be sure it is pleasant to walk in the meads, and so I 

should like for miles, 
If it wasn't for clodpoles of carpenters that put up such 

crooked stiles ; 
For the bars jut out, and you must jut out, till you're 

almost broken in two ; 
If you clamber you're certain sure of a fall, and you stick 

if you try to creep through. 
Of course, in the end, one learns how to climb without 

constant tumbles down. 
But still, as to walking so stylishly, it's pleasanter done 

about town. 
There's a way, I know, to avoid the stiles, and that's by a 

walk in a lane. 
And I did find a very nice shady one, but I never dared go 

again ; 
Tor who should I meet but a rampaging bull, that wouldn't 

be kept in the pound, 
A trying to toss the whole world at once, by sticking his 

horns in the ground. 
And that, by-the-by, is another thing, that pulls rural 

pleasures down. 
Every day in the country is cattle-day, and there's only 

two up in town. 
Then I've rose with the sun, to go brushing away at the 

first early pearly dew, 



RURAL FELICITY. 235 

And to meet Aurory, or whatever' s her name, and I always 

get wetted through ; 
My shoes are like sops, and I caught a bad cold, and a nice 

draggle-tail to my gown, 
That's not the way that we bathe our feet, or wear our 

pearls, up in town ! 
As for picking flowers, I have tried at a hedge, sweet 

eglantine roses to snatch. 
But, mercy on us ! how nettles will sting, and how the 

lono; brambles do scratch ; 
Besides hitching my hat on a nasty thorn that tore all the 

bows from the crown ; 
One may walk long enough without hats branching off, or 

losing one's bows, about town. 
But worse than that, in a long rural walk, suppose that it 

blows up for rain. 
And all at once you discover yourself in a real St. Swith- 

in's Lane ; 
And while you're running all ducked and drowned, and 

pelted with sixpenny drops, 
'' Fine weather," you hear the farmers say ; '' a nice grow- 
ing shower for the crops I" 
But who's to crop me another new hat, or grow me another 

new gown ? 
For you can't take a shilling fare with a plough, as you do 

with the hackneys in town. 

Then my nevys too, they must drag me off to go with them 

gathering nuts, 
And we always set out by the longest way and return by 

the shortest cuts. 
Short cuts, indeed ! But it's nuts to them, to get a poor 

lustyish aunt 



236 RURAL FELICITY. 

To scramble through gaps or jump over a ditch, when 

they're morally certam she can't; 
For whenever I get in some awkward scrape, and it's almost 

daily the case, 
Though they don't laugh out, the mischievous brats, I see 

the hooray ! in their face. 

There's the other day, for my sight is short, and I saw 

what was green beyond, 
And thought it was all terry firmer and grass till I walked 

in the duckweed pond : 
Or perhaps when I've pulley-hauled up a bank they see 

me come launching down, 
As none but a stout London female can do as is come a first 

time out of tovm. 
Then how sweet, some ssiy, on a mossy bank a verdurous 

seat to find, 
But, for my part, I always found it a joy that brought a 

repentance behind ; 
For the juicy grass with its nasty green has stained a whole 

breadth of my gown — 
And when gowns are dyed, I needn't say, it's much better 

done up in town. 
As for country fare, the first morning I came I heard such 

a shrill piece of work ! 
And ever since — and it's ten days ago — we've lived upon 

nothing but pork ; 
One Sunday except, and then I turned sick — a plague take 

all countrified cooks I 
Why didn't they tell me, 'before I had dined, they made 

pigeon-pies of the rooks ? 
Then the gooseberry wine, though it's pleasant when up, it 

doesn't agree when it's down, 



RURAL FELICITY. 237 

But it served me right, like a gooseberry fool, to look for 

champagne out of town 1 
To be sure. Cousin G. meant it all for the best, when he 

started this pastoral plan, 
And his wife is a worthy domestical soul, and she teaches 

me all that she can. 
Such as making of cheese, and curing of hams, but I'm 

sure that I never shall learn, 
And I've fetched more back-ache than butter as yet by 

chumping away at the churn ; 
But in making hay, though it's tanning work, I've found it 

more easy to make, 
But it tries one's legs, and no great relief when you're tired 

to sit down on the rake. 
I'd a country-dance too at harvest home, with a regular 

country clown. 
But, Lord 1 they don't hug one round the waist and give 

one such smacks in town i 
Then I've tried to make friends with the birds and the 

beasts, but they take to such curious rigs, 
I'm always at odds with the turkey-cock, and I can't even 

please the pigs. 
The very hens pick holes in my hands when I grope for the 

new-laid eggs. 
And the gander comes hissing out of the pond on purpose 

to flap at my legs. 
I've been bumped in a ditch by the cow without horns, and 

the old sow trampled me down, 
The beasts are as vicious as any wild beasts — but they're 

kept in cages in town ! 
Another thing is the nasty dogs — through the village I 

hardly can stir, 



238 RURAL FELICITY. 

Since giving a bumpkin a pint of beer just to call off a 
barking cur ; 

And now you would swear all the dogs in the place were 
set on to hunt me down, 

But neither the brutes nor the people, I think, are as civilly 
bred as in town. 

Last night, about twelve, I was scared broad awake, and all 
in a tremble of fright, 

But, instead of a family murder, it proved an owl that flies 
screech in o; at nio-ht. 

Then there's plenty of ricks and stacks all about, and I 
can't help dreaming of Swing — 

In short, I think that a pastoral life is not the most happi- 
est thing ; 

For besides all the troubles I've mentioned before, as en- 
dured for rurality's sake. 

I've been stung by the bees, and I've sat among ants, and 
once — ugh ! I trod on a snake ! 

And as to moskitoes, they tortured me so, for I've got a 
particular skin, 

I do think it's the gnats coming out of the ponds that drives 
the poor suicides in ! 

And, after all, ain't there new-laid eggs to be had upon 
Holborn Hill ? 

And dairy-fed pork in Broad St. Giles's, and fresh butter 
wherever you will ? 

And a covered cart that brings Cottage Bread quite rustical- 
like and brown ? 

So one isn't so very uncountrified in the very heart of the 
town. 

Howsomever my mind's made up, and although I'm sure 
Cousin Giles will be vexed. 



STANZAS. 239 

I mean to book me an inside place up to town upon Satur- 
day next, 

And if nothing happens, soon after ten, I shall be at the 
Old Bell and Crown, 

And perhaps I may come to the country again, when Lon- 
don is all burnt down ! 



STANZAS. 

COMPOSED IN A SHOWER-BATH. 
" Drip, drip, drip — there's nothing here but dripping." — Remorse, by Coleeidge. 

Trembling, as Father Adam stood 
To pull the stalk before the Fall, 

So stand I here, before the Flood, 
On my own head the shock to call : 

How like our predecessor's luck ! 

'Tis but to pluck — but needs some pluck ! 

Still thoughts of gasping like a pup, 
Will paralyze the nervous power ; 
Now^ hoping it will yet hold up, 

Invoking now the tumbling shower ;— 
But, ah ! the shrinking body loathes. 
Without a parapluie or clothes ! 

^' Expect some rain about this time !" 
My eyes are sealed, my teeth are set — 

But where' s the Stoic so sublime 

Can ring, unmoved, for wringing wet ? 

Of going hogs some folks talk big — 

Just let them go the whole cold pig ! 



240 A NEW SONG FROM THE POLISH. 



A NEA¥ SONG FROM THE POLISH. 

It was my good fortune, one day, in a casual ramble 
through Deptford, to encounter an old, whimsical, frost- 
bitten Tar, with whom I had made a slight Somerset House 
acquaintance. He was a North-Poler, by name Drury, but 
surnamed ex-officio "Why-Then?" and the recent return 
of the late Arctic Expedition affording us a congenial topic, 
I immediately broke the ice : — '' Well, Drury, what do you 
think of the last exploring job in the North ?" 

"Why then, your Honor," said Drury, taking up a 
talking position, " to speak my private mind, it's much the 
same as I said to you a year ago in the Navy Pay. It's 
come to the same bad end as all afore it, and as all will 
come to that come arter it, by trying to find what's not to 
be found — no, not if you took out the Town Crier." 

" You stick to the old opinion, then, Drury, that the 
Arctic Pole is nothing but an Arctic Gull?^^ 

'• Why then — yes, your Honor — something between a 
gull and no bird at all. Since I see you last, I've turned 
it over and over, and took double turns of it, and by help 
of Scripture larnings, which is vforth all other laming ten 
times over, not excepting navigation, I've been able to make 
out the pint," 

'' Indeed, Drury ! Then you will perhaps give an old 
friend the benefit of the decision." 

"Why, then, your Honor, it's my own argument en- 
tirely ; and here it is. As for the Prozen Ocean, it's my 
belief, Natur would never act so agin natur, as stick a sea 
where there was no earthly use for it whatsomever, whether 
to King's ships, or to Marchantmen, or any craft you like, 
by reason of the ice. That I call making Cape Clear." 



A NEW SONG FROM THE POLISH. 241 

'' And what then, Drurj ?" 

''Why then, it stands to reason, and stands well, too, on 
both legs, that there never was no sea at all in them high 
latitudes, afore the Great Flood. Whereby, there came sich 
a spring tide of the Atlantic, as went over and above all 
the old water-marks, and so made the Frozen Ocean. That's 
my own private notion, and not agin Gospel nor geo-grafy 
neither." 

' ' But what has that to do, Drury, with the existence of 
the Pole?" 

'' Why then — all the do in the world, your Honor. Give 
in to that, and the t'other comes arter it, like a ship's boat 
toAving in her wake. That ^ere sea, time out of mind, has 
been called the Arctic Sea, and good reason why, because 
it was named arter the Ark, by Noah, when he diskivered 
it in his first voyage. That's Philosophy !" 

" But the Pole, Drury, the Pole !" 

'' Why then — Ah I there it is !" returned Drury, with a 
face almost too grave to be serious. "For sartin. Captain 
Parry couldn't find it — and no more could Captain Boss, 
though he don't stick to say he did — and nov/ there's Cap- 
tain Back come home, third, without a splinter. Howsom- 
ever the SchoUards — and nobody can say they don't take 
lots of licking — the SchoUards do still insist and lay down 
that there was, is, and shall be, some sort of a pole, as a 
May pole, or a Shaving pole, or any how a bit of a spar, 
or even such a comedown, as a walking-stick, stuck upright 
at their favorite spot. I have even heard say, there be 
SchoUards as look for a wooden needle there, accordin' to 



mas;netism !" 

o 

u 



And what may be your own belief, Drury, on this 
point?" 

' ' Why then — to be sure, your Honor, there's no denying 

11 



242 A NEW SONG FROM THE POLISH. 

what phenomenons there might be, oceans ago on the face 
of the earth. But it's in j own private opinion, if there was 
sich a pole, there, or thereabouts, why then — old Admiral 
Noah carried it away with him for a pole to stir up ' his 
wild beasts!' " 

This new and original theory of Drury's of course amused 
me extremely. It was, perhaps, only one of the dry jokes 
for which the shrewd old Mariner was rather celebrated ; 
but in that case he enjoyed it only in the cockles of his 
heart, for it was not betrayed by his muscles. I now asked 
him his opinion of the conduct of the late Expedition. 

" Why then — your Honor, nothing but a fresh credit to 
the Service. The men have showed themselves good men, 
and so has their Commander ; and they do seem to have 
had their full allowance, and something handsome besides, 
of nips and pinches ; besides the ship's trying to climb up 
an iceberg after a booby's nest, and what was more awk- 
ward, starn-foremost. ' ' 

"And I have been told, Drury," said I, willing to still 
draw him out, " that all through the winter, she had noth- 
ing for winter-clothing, but a great coat of ice !" 

''Why then — so I heard too, your Honor," returned 
Drury, but without even the twinkle of an eye. '' And 
what's more, with only ould Bluff Pint for a Cape to it. 
Thafs what I call a naked-next." 

'•'I have often envied the feelings of such as you, Drury, 
after a merry Christmas among the bears, when you first 
saw your way open to return." 

" Why, then — we did savf our way, sure enough," said 
Drury, wilfully misunderstanding me, " and it's harder 
work than fiddling, saw what tune you like. I've had a 
good spell of it in my time, and prefer any other sort of 
fun to it — letting alone riding horseback, in a hurry, a 



A NEW SONG FROM THE POLISH. 243 

chasing the Portsmouth Mail. That's work and overwork 
— why then, it's scaldings, the bosen's cat, and take-me- 
and-shake-me, all rolled into one !" 

" So I'm told, Drury. But I still think the other Expe- 
dition must be worse. They say. Captain Back was so 
glad to see Papa Westra again, that he nearly wrung the 
old gentleman's hand off at the wrist." 

" Why then — no doubt on it, your Honor ! And may- 
hap the shake communicated to a round dozen of hands 
arter the first, like the shock of a torpedor — that's to say 
the 'lectrical heel. There's not sich a pleasant green lane 
in life, including the subbubs, as the first lane of open wa- 
ter arter wintering ; and in course Captain Back, arter 
making sich a back-stay, would be joyful to be a bolt-rope 
and bolt out on it. That's only human natur — all the 
world over and back." 

" Then, Drury, the hardships of a Polar wintering have 
not been magnified by the Journalists?" 

"Magnified !" exclaimed Drury, with the air of a per- 
sonal offence in the word — '' magnified ! Why then, they 
haven't booked half on it — and that's the half us, poor fel- 
lows, come into at coming home. Axing your Honor's 
pardon — why then, you have never had the bad luck to be 
drowned?" 

" Never, Drury, whatever other catastrophe Fate may 
have in store for me." 

" Why then, your Honor, you have lost all the pleasure 
and comfort of being fetched back ; and an infernal sight 
of pain it is — worse, if worse can be, nor saddleback. So 
it is with the Polers ; but it has been put into better shore- 
going lingo than I was apprenticed to — and so — why then, 
here goes !" So saying, without further preface or apology, 
my Ancient Mariner began to tune his pipes, and then fa- 



^ 



244 A NEW soNa from the polish. 



vored me, to the tune of " I sailed from the Downs in the 
Nancy," with the following dittj. N. B. — or Notaries Be- 
ware — the words are copyright. 

THE OLD POLER'S WARNING. 

Come, messmates, attend to a warning, 

From one who has gone through the whole ; 
And you'll never set sail, some fine morning, 

To seek any sort of a Pole. 
It's not for the icebergs and freezing, 

Or dangers you'll have for to court, 
It's the shocks very hard and unpleasing 

You'll meet on returning to Port. 

It's joyful to sail up the Channel, 

And think of your girls and your wives, 
Of the warming-pans, Wallsend, and flannel, 

To comfort the rest of your lives ! 
But Lord ! you will look like a ninny 

To find, when to shore you have got, 
That Old England is turned into Guinea, 

It feels so confoundedly hot ! 

The next thing is coming, in Wapping, 

The houses you lived at before, 
And you find there is no sort of stopping 

Without open windows and door ! 
Then Poll, if disposed to be cruel. 

Or got some one else in her grace, 
She just chucks on a shovel of fuel. 

And drives you smack out of the place ! 

There's Tomkins, that took for to grapple 
With Methody Tracks at the Pole, 



A NEW SONG FROM THE POLISH. -245 

Is half crazy, he can't go to chapel, 

It's so like Calcutta's Black Hole 1 
And Block, though he's not a deceiver, 

But knows what to marriage belongs, 
His own wife, he's obleeged for to leave her, 

Because of her pokers and tongs ! 

Myself, though I'm able at present 

To bear with one friend at a time, 
And my wife, if she makes herself pleasant. 

At first I w^as plagued with the clime. 
Like powder I flew from hot cinders, 

And whistled for winds fore and aft, 
While I set between two open winders 

A-courting a cold thorough-draft ! 

The first time in bed I was shoven, 
The moment I pillowed my head, 

! I thought I had crept m an oven, 
A-baking with all of the bread ! 

1 soon left the blankets behind me. 
And ran for a cooler retreat; 

But next morning the Justices fined me 
For taking a snooze in the street ! 

Now, there was a chance for a feller ! 

No roof I could sleep under twice ; 
Till a fishmonger let me his cellar, 

Of course with the use of the ice. 
But still, like old hermits in stories, 

I found it a dullish concarn ; 
With no creature, but maids and John Dories, 

To listen to spinning a yarn ! 



246 HIT OR MISS. 

Then wanting to see Black-eyed Susan, 

I went to the Surrey with Sal ; 
And what next ? — in the part most amusin' 

I fainted away like a gal ! 
Well, there I was, stretched without motion, 

No smells and no fans would suffice, 
Till my natur at last gave a notion 

To grab at a gentleman's ice ! 

Then, Messmates, attend to a warning 

From one who has gone through the whole ; 
And you'll never set sail, some fine morning, 

To seek any sort of a Pole. 
It's not for the icebergs and freezing, 

Or dangers you'll have for to court, 
It's the shocks, very hard and unpleasing. 

You'll meet on returning to Port ! 



HIT OR MISS. 

Twa dogs, that were na thrang at hame. 
Forgathered ance upon a time." — Buens. 

One morn^ — ^it was the very morn 
September's sportive month was born — 
The hour, about the sunrise, early ; 
The sky, grey, sober, still, and pearly. 
With sundry orange streaks and tinges 
Through daylight's door, at cracks and hinges ; 
The air, calm, bracing, freshly cool. 
As if just skimmed froni off a pool ; 
The scene, red, russet, yellow, leaden, 
From stubble, fern, and leaves that deaden, 



HIT OR MISS. 247 

Save here and there a turnip patch 

Too verdant with the rest to match ; 

And far a-field a hazy figure, 

Some roaming lover of the trigger. 

Meanwhile the level light, perchance, 

Picked out his barrel with a glance ; 

For all around a distant popping 

Told birds were flying off or dropping. 

Such was the morn — a morn right fair 

To seek for covey or for hare — 

"When, lo ! too far from human feet 

For even Ranger's boldest beat, 

A dog, as in some doggish trouble. 

Came cant'ring through the crispy stubble, 

With dappled head in lowly droop, 

But not the scientific stoop ; 

And flagging, dull, desponding ears, 

As if they had been soaked in tears, 

And not the beaded dew that hung 

The filmy stalks and weeds among. 

His pace, indeed, seemed not to know 

An errand, why, or where to go, 

To trot, to walk, or scamper swift — 

In short, he seemed a dog adrift ; 

His very tail, a listless thing. 

With just an accidental swing. 

Like rudder to the ripple veering. 

When nobody on board was steering. 

So, dull and moody, cantered on 
Our vagrant pointer, christened Don; 
When, rising o'er a gentle slope, 
That gave his view a better scope, 



248 HIT OR MISS. 

He spied some dozen furrows distant, 

But in a spot as inconsistent, 

A second dog across his track, 

Without a master to his back ; ' : 

As if for wages, workman-like. 

The sporting breed had made a strike, 

Resolved nor birds nor puss to seek, 

Without another paunch a week ! 

This other was a truant curly. 
But, for a spaniel, w^ondrous surly, 
Instead of curvets gay and brisk, 
He slouched along without a frisk. 
With dogged air, as if he had 
A good half mind to running mad ; 
Mayhap the shaking at his ear 
Had been a quaver too severe ; 
Mayhap the whip's "exclusive dealing" 
Had too much hurt e'en spaniel feeling. 
Nor if he had been cut, 'twas plain 
He did not mean to come again. 

Of course the pair soon spied each other ; 
But neither seemed to own a brother ; 
The course on both sides took a curve, 
As dogs when shy are apt to swerve ; 
But each o'er back and shoulder throwing 
A look to watch the other's going, 
Till, having cleared sufficient ground. 
With one accord they turned them round, 
And squatting down, for forms not caring, 
At one another fell to staring ; 
As if not proof against a touch 
Of what plagues humankind so much, 



HIT OR MISS. 249 

A prying itch to get at notions 

Of all their neighbors' looks and motions. 

Sir Don at length was first to rise — ■ 

The better dog in point of size, 

And, snuffing all the ground between, 

Set off with easj jaunty mien ; 

While Dash, the stranger, rose to greet him. 

And made a dozen steps to meet him ; 

Their noses touched, and rubbed awhile, 

(Some savage nations use the style) 

And then their tails a wag began, 

Though on a very cautious plan, 

But in their signals quantum suff. 

To say, '' A civil dog enough." 

Thus having held out olive branches, 

They sank again, though not on haunches, 

But couchant, with their under jaws, 

Besting between the two forepaws, 

The prelude, on a luckier day, 

Or sequel, to a game of play : 

But now they were in dumps, and thus 

Began their worries to discuss, 

The Pointer, coming to the point 

The first, on times so out of joint. 

" Well, Friend — so here's a new September, 

As fine a first as I remember ; 

And, thanks to such an early Spring, 

Plenty of birds, and strong on wing." 

''Birds !" cried the little crusty chap, 
As sharp and sudden as a snap, 
11* 



250 HIT OR MISS. 

" A weasel suck them in the shell ! 
What matter birds, or fljing well, 
Or flj at all, or sporting weather, 
If fools with guns can't hit a feather !" 

'' Ay, there's the ruh, indeed," said Don, 

Putting his gravest visage on ; 

" In vain we beat our beaten way, 

And bring our organs into play, 

Unless the proper killing kind 

Of barrel-tunes are played behind : 

But when loe shoot — that's me and Squire- 

We hit as often as we fire." 

" More luck for you !" cried little Woolly, 
Who felt the cruel contrast fully ; 
'' More luck for you, and Squire to boot ! 
We miss as often as we shoot !" 

'' Indeed ! — No wonder you're unhappy ! 
I thought you looking rather snappy ; 
But fancied when I saw you jogging,' 
You had an overdose of flogging ; 
Or p'rhaps the gun its range had tried, 
While you were ranging rather wide.' 



■^5 

75 



"Me ! running — running wide — and hit! 
Me shot ! what, peppered ? — Deuce a bit ! 
I almost vfish I had ! That Dunce, 
My master, then would hit for once ! 
Hit mo ! Lord how you talk 1 why zounds ! 
He couldn't hit a pack of hounds !" 



HIT OR MISS. 251 

''Well, that must be a case provoking. 
What, never — but, you dog, you're joking ! 
I see a sort of wicked grin 
About your jaw, you're keeping in." 

" A joke ! an old tin kettle's clatter 

Would be as much a joking matter. 

To tell the truth, that dog-disaster 

Is just the type of me and master, 

When fagging over hill and dale, 

With his vain rattle at my tail. 

Bang, bang, and bang, the whole day's run, 

But leading nothing but his gun — ■ 

The very shot, I fancy, hisses. 

It's sent upon such awful misses !" 

'' Of course it does ! But p'rhaps the'' fact is, 
Your master's hand is out of practice !" 

" Practice ? — no doctor where you will, 

Has finer — but he cannot kill ! 

These three years past, through furze and furrow, 

All covers I have hunted thorough ; 

Flushed cocks and snipes about the moors ; 

And put up hares by scores and scores ; 

Coveys of birds, and lots of pheasants ; — 

Yes, game enough to send in presents 

To every friend he has in town. 

Provided he had knocked it down : 

But no — the whole three years together, 

He has not given me flick or feather — 

For all that I have had to do 

I wish I had been missing too !" 



252 HIT OR MISS. 

" Well, such a hand would drive me mad, 
But is he trulj quite so bad?" 

*' Bad ! — worse ! — ^you cannot underscore him ; 

If I could put up, just before him, 

The great Balloon that paid the visit 

Across the water, he would miss it ! 

Bite him ! I do believe, indeed. 

It's in his very blood and breed ! 

It marks his life, and runs all through it ; 

What can be missed, he's sure to do it. 

Last Monday he came home to Tooting, 

Dog-tired, as if he'd been a-shooting. 

And kicks at me to vent his rage — 

' Get out !' says he — ' I've missed the stage !' 

Of course, thought I — what chance of hitting ? 

You'd missed the Norwich waggon, sitting !" 

"Why, he must be the county's scoff! 
He ought to leave, and not let, off ! 
As fate denies bis shooting wishes, 
Why don't he take to catching fishes ? 
Or any other sporting game. 
That don't require a bit of aim ?" 

" Not he ! — Some dogs of human kind 
Will hunt by sight, because they're blind. 
My master angle 1 — no such lack ! 
There he might strike, who never struck I 
My master shoots because he can't, 
And has an eye that aims aslant ; 
Nay, just by way of making trouble, 
He's changed his single gun for double : 



HIT OR MISS. 253 

And now, as girls a-walking do, 
His misses go bj two and two ! 
I wish he had the mange, or reason 
As good, to miss the shooting season !" 

''Why, jes, it must be main unpleasant 
To point to covey, or to pheasant ; 
For snobs, who, when the point is mooting, 
Think leithig fly as good as shooting !" 

'^ Snobs ! — if he'd wear his ruffled shirts, 
Or coats with water-wagtail skirts, 
Or trowsers in the place of smalls. 
Or those tight fits he wears at balls. 
Or pumps, and boots with tops, majhap, 
Why we might pass for Snip and Snap, 
And shoot like blazes ! fly or sit. 
And none would stare unless we hit. 
But no — to make the more combustion, 
He goes in gaiters and in fustian. 
Like Captain Ross, or Topping Sparks, 
And deuce a miss but some one marks ! 
For Keepers, shy of such encroachers. 
Dog us about like common poachers ! 
Many's the covey I've gone by, 
When underneath a sporting eye ; 
Many a puss I've twigged, and passed her— 
I miss 'em to prevent my master !" 

^' And so should I in such a case ! 
There's nothing feels so like disgrace. 
Or gives you such a scurvy look — 
A kick and pail of slush from Cook, 



254 ^ HIT OR MISS. 

Cleftsticks, or Kettle, all in one, 

As standing to a missing gun ! 

It's whirr 1 and bang ! and off you bound. 

To catch your bird before the ground ; 

But no — a pump and ginger pop 

As soon would get a bird to drop ! 

So there you stand, quite struck a-heap, 

Till all your tail is gone to sleep ; 

A sort of stiffness in your nape. 

Holding your head well up to gape ; 

While off go birds across the ridges, 

First small as flies, and then as midges, 

Cocksure, as they are living chicks. 

Death's Door is not at Number Six !" 



'' Yes ! yes ! and then you look at master, 
The cause of all the late disaster. 
Who gives a stamp, and raps an oath 
At gun, or birds, or maybe both ; 
P'rhaps curses you, and all your kin, 
To raise the hair upon your skin ! 
Then loads, rams down, and fits new caps, 
To go and hunt for more miss-haps !" 

'' Yes ! yes ! but, sick and sad, you feel 
But one long wish to go to heel ; 
You cannot scent for cuttino; muo;s — 
Your nose is turning up, like Pug's ; 
You can't hold up, but plod and mope ; 
Your tail's like sodden end of rope. 
That o'er a wind-bound vessel's side 
Has soaked in harbor, tide and tide. 



HIT OR MISS. 255 

Or thorns and scratches, till, that moment 
Unnoticed, you begin to comment 
You never felt such bitter brambles, 
Such heavy soil in all your rambles ! 
You never felt your fleas so vicious ! 
Till, sick of life so unpropitious, 
You wish at last, to end the passage, 
That you were dead, and in your sassage!" 

" Yes ! that's a miss from end to end ! 
But, zounds ! you draw so well, my friend, 
You've made me shiver, skin and gristle. 
As if I heard my master's whistle ! 
Though how you came to learn the knack — 
I thought your Squire was quite a crack !" 

'' And so he is ! — He always hits — 
And sometimes hard, and all to bits. 
But ere with him our tongues we task, 
I^ve still one little thing to ask ; 
Namely, with such a random master, 
Of course you sometimes want a plaster ? 
Such missing hands make game of more 
Than ever passed for game before — 
A pounded pig — a widow's cat — 
A patent ventilating hat — 
For shot, like mud, when thrown so thick, 
Will find a coat whereon to stick 1" 

"What ! accidentals, as they're termed? 
No, never — none — since I was wormed — > 
Not e'en the Keeper's fatted calves — 
My master does not miss by halves ! 



256 HIT OR MISS. 

His shot are like poor orphans, hurled 

Abroad upon the whole wide world ; 

But whether thej be blown to dust, 

As oftentimes I think they must, 

Or melted down too near the sun, 

What comes of them is known to none — 

I never found, since I could bark, 

A Barn that bore my master's mark !" 

*' Is that the case ? — Why then, my brother, 
Would we could swap with one another ! 
Or take the Squire, with all my heart, 
I^ay, all my liver, so we part ! 
He'll hit you hares — (he uses cartridge) 
He'll hit you cocks — he'll hit a partridge ; 
He'll hit a snipe ; he'll hit a pheasant; 
He'll hit — he'll hit whatever's present ; 
He'll always hit — as that's your wisli — 
His pepper never lacks a dish !" 

" Come, come, you banter — let's be serious; 

I'm sure that I am half delirious. 

Your picture set me so a-sighing — 

But does he shoot so well — shoot flying ?" 

" Shoot flying ? Yes, and running, walking- 

I've seen him shoot two farmers talking — 

He'll hit th? game, whene'er he can. 

But failing that, he'll hit a man, 

A boy, a horse's tail or head. 

Or make a pig a pig of lead ; 

Oh, friend ! they say no dog as yet. 

However hot, was known to sweat. 



HIT OR MISS. 257 

But sure I am that I perspire 

Sometimes before my master'' s fire I 

Misses ! no, no, he always hits, 

But so as puts me into fits ! 

He shot my fellow dog this morning, 

Which seemed to me sufficient warning !" 

" Quite, quite, enough ! — So that's a hitter! 

Why, my own fate I thought was bitter, 

And full excuse for cut and run ; 

But give me still the missing giin ! 

Or rather, Sirius ! send me this, 

No gun at all, to hit or miss, 

Since sporting seems to shoot thus double. 

That right or left it brings us trouble !" 

So ended Dash ; — and Pointer Don 
Prepared to urge the moral on ; 
But here a whistle long and shrill 
Came sounding o'er the council hill, 
And starting up, as if their tails 
Had felt the touch of shoes and nails, 
Away they scampered down the slope, 
As fast as other pairs elope ; 
Kesolved, instead of sporting rackets. 
To beg or dance in fancy jackets ; 
At butchers' shops to try their luck ; 
To help to draw a cart or truck ; 
Or lead stone blind poor men, at most 
Who could but hit or miss a post. 



258 A FLYING VISIT. 



A FLYING VISIT. 

•' A Calendar ! a Calendar I look in the Almanac — find out moonshine find out 

moonshine 1" — Midsummer NigMs Dream. 

The by-gone September, 

As folks maj remember, 
At least if their memory saves but an ember, 

One fine afternoon, 

There went up a Balloon, 
^ Which did not return to the Earth very soon. 

For, nearing the sky, 

At about a mile high, 
The Aeronaut bold had resolved on a fly ; 

So cutting his string, 

In a Parasol thing, 
Down he came in a field like a lark from the wing. 

Meanwhile, thus adrift. 

The Balloon made a shift 
To rise very fast, with no burden to lift ; 

It got very small. 

Then to nothing at all ; 
And then rose the question of where it would fall ? 

Some thought that, for lack 

Of the man and his pack, 
'Twould rise to the Cherub that watches poor Jack ; 

Some held, but in vain. 

With the first heavy rain, 
'Twould surely come down to the Gardens again ! 



A FLYING VISIT. 259 

But still not a word 

For a month could be heard 
Of what had become of the Wonderful Bird : 

The firm of Gye and Hughes, 

Wore their boots out and shoes. 
In running about and inquiring for news. 

Some thought it must be 

Tumbled into the sea ; 
Some thought it had gone off to high Germanie ; 

For Germans, as shown 

By their writings, 'tis known 
Are always delighted with what is high-flown. 

Some hinted a bilk. 

And that maidens who milk, 
In far distant Shire would be walking in silk : 

Some swore that it must, 

" As they said at i\iQ fust^ 
Have gone agin flashes of lightning, and bust P^ 

However, at last. 

When six weeks had gone past. 
Intelligence came of a plausible cast ; 

A wondering clown, 

At a hamlet near town, 
Had seen "like a moon of green cheese" comuig down. 

Soon spread the alarm, 

And from cottage and farm. 
The natives buzzed out like the bees when they swarm ; 

And off ran the folk — 

It is such a good joke — 
To see the descent of a bagful of smoke ! 



260 A FLYING VISIT. 



And, lo ! the machine. 



Dappled yellow and green, 
Was plainly enough in the clouds to be seen : 

" Yes, yes," was the cry, 

"It's the old one, sure/i/, 
Where can it have been such a time in the sky ? 

'' Lord ! where will it fall ? 

It can't find out Vauxhall, 
Without any pilot to guide it at all !" 

Some wagered that Kent 

Would behold the event, 
Debrett had been posed to predict its descent. 

Some thought it would pitch 

In the old Tower Ditch ; 
Some swore on the Cross of St. Paul's it would hitch, 

And farmers cried, " Zounds! 

If it drops on our grounds, 
We'll try if Balloons can't be put into pounds I" 

But still to and fro 

It continued to go. 
As if looking out for soft places below ; 

No difl&cult job — 

It had only to bob 
Slap-dash down at once on the heads of the mob : 

Who, too apt to stare 

At some castle in air, 
Forget that the earth is their proper affair ; 

Till, watching the fall 

Of some soap-bubble ball, 
They tumble themselves with a terrible sprawl. 



A FLYING VISIT. 261 

Meanwhile, from its height, 

Stooping downward in flight, 
The Phenomenon came more distinctly in sight : 

Still bigger and bigger, 

And, strike me a nigger 
Unfreed, if there was not a live human figure ! 

Yes, plain to be seen, 

Underneath the machine. 
There dangled a mortal ; — some swore it was Green ; 

Some Mason could spy ; 

Others named Mr. Gje ; 
Or Hollond, compelled by the Belgians to fly. 

'Twas Graham the flighty, 

"Whom the Duke, high and mighty. 
Resigned to take care of his own lignum- vitae ; 

'Twas Hampton, whose whim 

Was in Cloudland to swim, 
Till e'en Little Hampton looked little to him ! 

But all were at fault ; 

From the heavenly vault 
The falling balloon came at last to a halt ; 

And bounce 1 with the jar 

Of descending so far, 
An outlandish Creature was thrown from the car ! 

At first with the jolt ^ 

All his wits made a bolt. 
As if he'd been flung by a mettlesome colt ; 

And while in his faint, 

To avoid all complaint, 
The Muse shall endeavor his portrait to paint. 



262 A FLYINa VISIT. 

The face of this elf, 

Round as platter of delf, 
Was pale as if only a cast of itself : 

His head had a rare 

Fleece of silvery hair, 
Just like the Albino at Bartlemy Fair. 

His eyes they were odd, 

Like the eyes' of a cod, 
And gave him the look of a watery god. 

His nose was a snub ; 

Under which, for his grub. 
Was a round open mouth like to that of a chub. 

His person was small, 

Without figure at all, 
A plump little body as round as a ball : 

With two little fins, 

And a couple of pins, 
With what has been christened a bow in the shins. 

His dress it was new, 

A full suit of sky-blue ; 
With bright silver buckles in each little shoe ; 

Thus painted complete. 

From his head to his feet, 
Conceive him laid flat in Squire Hopkins's wheat ! 

Fine text for the crowd ! 

Who disputed aloud 
What sort of a creature had dropped from the cloud- 

" He's come from o'er seas, 

He's a Cochin Chinese — 
By jingo ! he's one of the wild Cherokees!" 



A FLYING VISIT. 263 

'' Don't nobody know ?" 

'' He's a young Esquimaux, 
Turned white, like the hares, bj the Arctical snow." 

" Some angel, my dear, 

Sent from some upper spear 
For Plumtree or Agnew, too good for this-here !" 

Meanwhile, with a sigh. 

Having opened one eye, 
The stranger rose up on his seat by and by ; 

And finding his tongue, 

Thus he said or he sung, 
'' Mi criky bo higgamy kickery bung /" 

" Lord ! what does he speak?" 
"It's Dog-Latin— it's Greek!" 
" It's some sort of slang for to puzzle a Beak !" 
"It's no like the Scotch," 
Said a Scot on the watch, 
Phoo ! it's nothing at all but a kind of hotch-potch !" 



li 



"It's not parley voo," 

Cried a schoolboy or two, 
" Nor Hebrew at all," said a wandering Jew. 

Some held it was sprung 

From the Irvingite tongue. 
The same that is used by a child very young. 

Some guessed it high Dutch, 
Others thought it had much 

In sound of the true Hoky-poky-ish touch ; 
But none could be poz, 
What the Dickens 1 (not Boz) 

No mortal could tell what the Dickens it was ! 



264 A FLYING VISIT. 

When who should come pat, 

In a moment like that, 
But Bowring, to see what the people were at— 

A doctor well able, 

Without any fable, 
To talk and translate all the babble of Babel. 

So just drawing near, 

With a vigilant ear. 
That took every syllable in, very clear, 

Before one could sip 

Up a tumbler of flip, 
He knew the whole tongue, from the root to the tip I 

Then stretching his hand. 

As you see Daniel stand 
In the Feast of Belshazzar, that picture so grand ! 

Without more delay. 

In the Hamilton way 
He Englished whatever the elf had to say. 

'' Krak krazihoo ban^ 

I'm the Lunatic Man, 
Confined in the Moon since creation began — 

Sit muggy higog, 

Whom, except in a fog, 
You see with a Lanthorn, a Bush, and a Dog. 

'^ Liang sinei^y lear^ 

For this many a year, 
I've longed to drop in at your own little sphere ; 

Och^ pad-mad aroon 

Till one fine afternoon, 
I found that Wind- Coach on the horns of the Moon. 



A FLYING VISIT. 265 

^' Ciish quackery go. 

But, besides, jou must know, 
I'd heard of a profiting Prophet below ; 

Big botherum blether j 

Who pretended to gather 
The tricks that the Moon meant to play with the weather. 

'' So Crismiis an crash, 

Eeing shortish of cash, 
I thought I'd a right to partake of the hash — 

Slik mizzle an smak^ 

So I'm come with a pack. 
To sell to the trade, of My Own Almanac. 

" Fiz^ bobbery jjershal 
Besides aims commercial. 
Much wishing to honor my friend Sir John Herschel, 
Cum puddin and tame^ 



It's inscribed to his name 



Which is now at the full in celestial fame. 

'' Wept wepton loish luept^ 
Pray this copy accept" 



But here on the stranger some kidnapper leaped 

For why ? a shrewd man 

Had devised a sly plan 
The Wonder to grab for a show-caravan. 

So plotted, so done — 

With a fight as in fun, 
While mock pugilistical rounds were begun, 

A knave who could box, 

And give right and left knocks. 
Caught hold of the Prize by his silvery locks. 

12 



266 A FLYING VISIT. 

And hard he had fared. 

But the people were scared 
By what the Interpreter roundly declared : 

" You ignorant Turks ! 

You will be jour own Burkes — 
He holds all the keys of the lunary works ! 

" You'd best let him go ! 

If you keep him below, 
The Moon will not change, and the tides will not flow ; 

He left her at full, 

And with such a long pull, 
Zounds ! every man Jack will run mad like a bull !" 

So awful a threat 

Took effect on the set ; 
The fright, though, was more than their Guest could forget ; 

So, taking a jump, 

In the car he came plump, 
And threw all the ballast right out in a lump. 

Up soared the machine, 

With its yellow and green ; 
But still the pale face of the Creature was seen, 

Who cried from the car, 

'' Dam in yooman bi gar .'" 
That is — '' What a sad set of villains you are !" 

Howbeit, at some height, 

He threw down quite a flight 
Of Almanacs, wishing to set us all right — 

And, thanks to the boon, 

We shall see very soon 
If Murphy knows most, or the Man in the Moon ! 



THE DOCTOR. 267 



THE DOCTOR. 



A SKETCH. 
"Whatever is, is right."— Pope. 

There once was a Doctor 
(No foe to the proctor), 
A physic-concocter, 
Whose dose was so pat, 
However it acted, 
One speech it extracted — 
" Yes, yes," said the Doctor, 
^' I meant it for that!" 

And first, all unaisj. 
Like woman that's crazy. 
In flies Mistress Casey, 
" Do come to poor Pat ; 
The blood's running faster ! 
He's torn off the plaster — " 
''Yes, yes," said the Doctor, 
" I meant it for that !" 

Anon, with an antic 
Quite strange and romantic, 
A woman comes frantic — 
" What could you be at ! 
My darling dear Aleck 
You've sent him oxalic I" 
"Yes, yes," said the Doctor, 
''I meant it for that !" 

Then in comes another. 
Despatched by his mother, 



268 THE DOCTOR. 

A blubbering brother, 
Who gives a rat-tat — 
"Oh, poor little sister 
Has licked oiF a blister !" 
"Yes, yes," said the Doctor, 
" I meant it for that !" 

Now home comes the flunky. 
His own powder-monkey, 
But dull as a donkey — 
With basket and that — 
"The draught for the Squire, sir, 
He chucked in the fire, sir — " 
" Yes, yes," said the Doctorj 
" I meant it for that !" 

The next is the pompous 
Head Beadle, old Bumpus — 
" Lord ! here is a rumpus : 
That pauper. Old Nat, 
In some drunken notion 
Has drunk up his lotion — " 
"Yes, yes," said the Doctor, 
" I meant it for that !" 

At last comes a servant. 

In grief very fervent : 

" Alas ! Dr. Derwent, 

Poor Master is flat ! 

He's drawn his last breath, sir — 

That dose was his death, sir." 

" Yes, yes," said the Doctor, 

" I meant it for that !" 



MARY'S GHOST. 269 

MAKY'S GHOST. 

A PATHETIC BALLAD. 

'TwAS in tlie middle of the night, 

To sleep young William tried, 
When Mary's ghost came stealing in. 

And stood at his bedside. 

William dear ! William dear ! 
My rest eternal ceases ; 

Alas ! my everlasting peace 
Is broken into pieces. 

1 thought the last of all my cares 
Would end with my last minute ; 

But though I went to my long home, 
I didn't stay long in it. 

The body-snatchers they have come, 

And made a snatch at me ; 
It's very hard them kind of men 

Won't let a body be ! 

You thought that I was buried deep, 

Quite decent-like and chary ; 
But from her grave in Mary-bone 

They've come and boned your Mary. 

The arm that used to take your arm 

Is took to Dr. Vyse ; 
And both my legs are gone to walk 

The hospital at Guy's. 



270 MARY'S GHOST. 

I vowed that jou should have my hand, 
But Fate gives us denial ; 

You'll find it there, at Doctor Bell's, 
In spirits and a phial. 

As for my feet, the little feet 
You used to call so pretty, 

There's one, I know, in Bedford Row, 
The t'other's in the city. 

I can't tell where my head is gone, 
But Doctor Carpue can ; 

As for my trunk, it's all packed up 
To go by Pickford's van. 

I wish you'd go to Mr. P. 

And save me such a ride ; 
I don't half like the outside place 

They've took for my inside. 

The cock it crows — I must be gone ! 

My William, we must part ! 
But I'll be yours in death, although 

Sir Astley has my heart I 

Don't go to weep upon my grave, 
And think that there I be ; 

They haven't left an atom there 
Of my anatomie. 



TIM TURPIN. 271 

TIM TURPIK 

A PATHETIC BALLAD. 

Tim Turpin he was gravel blind, 

And ne'er had seen the skies : 
For Nature, when his head was made, 

Forgot to dot his ejes. 

So, like a Christmas pedagogue, 

Poor Tim was forced to do — ■ 
Look out for pupils, for he had 

A vacancy for two. 

There's some have specs to help their sight 

Of objects dim and small ; 
But Tim had specks within his eyes. 

And could not see at all. 



J 



Now Tim he wooed a servant maid 

And took her to his arms 
For he, like Pjramus, had cast 

A wall-eye on her charms. 

By day she led him up and down 
Where'er he wished to jog, 

A happy wife, although she led 
The life of any dog. 

But just when Tim had lived a month 

In honey with his wife, 
A surgeon oped his Milton eyes, 

Like oysters, with a knife. 



272 TIM TURPIN. 

But when his eyes were opened thus. 
He wished them dark again ; 

For when he looked upon his wife, 
He saw her very plain. 

Her face was bad, her figure worse. 

He couldn't bear to eat ; 
For she was any thing but like 

A Grace before his meat. 

Now Tim he was a feelino- man : 
For when his sight was thick, 

It made him feel for every thing — 
But that was with a stick. 

So with a cudgel in his hand — 
It was not light or slim — 

He knocked at his wife's head until 
It opened unto him. 

And when the corpse was stiff and cold, 
He took his slaughtered spouse, 

And laid her in a heap with all 
The ashes of her house. 



But, like a wicked murderer. 
He lived in constant fear 

From day to day, and so he cut 
His throat from ear to ear. 

The neighbors fetched a doctor in 
Said he, This wound I dread 

Can hardly be sewed up — his life 
Is hanging on a thread. 



TIM TURPIN, -273 

But -when another week was gone, 

He gave liim stronger hope — • 
Instead of hanging on a thread, 

Of hanging on a rope. 

Ah ! when he hid his bloody work, 

In ashes round about, 
How little he supposed the truth 

Would soon be sifted out ! 

But when the parish dustman came, 

His rubbish to withdraw, 
He found more dust within the heap 

Than he contracted for ! 

A dozen men to try the fact, 

Were sworn that verj day ; 
But though they all were jurors, yet 

No conjurors were they. 

Said Tim unto those jurymen, 

You need not waste your breath. 
For I confess myself, at once, 

The author of her death. 

And, oh ! when I reflect upon 

The blood that I have spilt, 
Just like a button is my soul, 

Inscribed with double guilt ! 

Then turning round his head again 

He saw before his eyes 
A great judge, and a little judge. 

The judges of a-size ! 
12* 



274 THE VISION. 

The great judge took his judgment-cap, 

And put it on his head, 
And sentenced Tim bj law to hang 

Till he was three times dead. 

So he was tried, and he was hung 
(Fit punishment for such) 

On Horsham-drop, and none can say 
It was a drop too much. 



THE VISION. 



" Plague on't ! the last was ill enough, 
This cannot but make hetter proof." — Cottok. 

As I sate the other night, 
Burning of a single light. 
All at once a change there came 
In the color of the flame. 

Strange it was the blaze to view. 

Blue as summer sky is blue : 

One ! two ! three ! four ! five ! six ! seven ! 

Eight ! nine ! ten ! it struck eleven ! 

Pale as sheet, with stiffened hair, 
Motionless in elbow chair — 
Blood congealing— dead almost — 
''Now," thought I, "to see a ghost!" 

Strange misgiving, true as strange! 
In the air there came a change, 
And as plain as mortals be, 
Lo ! a Shape confronted me ! 



THE VISION. 275 

Lines and features I could trace 
Like an old familiar face, 
Thin and pallid like mj own 
In the morning mirror shown. 

^'Now," he said, and near the grate 
Drew a chair for tete-a-tete. 
Quite at odds with all decorum — 
'' Now, my boy, let's have a jorum !'' 

" Come,"' he cried, '-old fellow, come, 
Where's the brandy, where's the rum ? 
Where's the kettle — is it hot ? 
Shall we have some punch, or what? 

'• Feast of reason — flow of soul ! 
Where's the sugar, where's the bowl ? 
Lemons I will help to squeeze — 
Flip, egg-hot, or what you please !" 

'• Sir," said I, with hectic cough, 
Shock of nerves to carry off — 
Looking at him very hard, 
^' Please oblige me with a card." 

^' Card !" said he, '' Phoo — nonsense — stuff! 
We're acquainted well enough — 
Still my name, if you desire, 
Eighteen Thirty-eight, Esquire. 

''Ring for supper ! where's the tray ? 
No great time I have to stay, 
One short hour, and like a Mayor, 
I must quit the yearly Chair !" 



276 THE VISION. 

Scarce could I contain my rage — 
O'er the retrospective page, 
Looking back from date to date, 
What I owed to Thirtj-Eight. 

'' Sickness here and sickness there, 
Pain and sorrow, constant care ; 
Fifty-two long weeks to fall, 
Not a trump among them all ! 

^' Zounds i" I cried in quite a huff, 
^' Go — I've known you long enough. 
Seek for supper w^here you please. 
Here you have not bread and cheese." 

"Nay," cried he, ''were things so ill? 
Let me have your pardon still — 
What I've done to give you pain, 
I will never do again. 

"As from others, so from you. 
Let me have my honors due ; 
Soon the parish bells about 
Will begin to ring me out." 

" Ring you out ? — With all my heart !" 
From my chair I made a start, 
Pulled the bell and gave a shout — 
" Peter, show the Old Year out !" 



THE BLUE BOAR. 277 



THE BLUE BOAR. 

'TiS known to man, 'tis known to woman, 
'Tis known to all the world in common, 
How politics and partj strife 
Vex public, even private, life ; 
But till some days ago, at least, 
Thej never worried brutal beast. 

I wish you could have seen the creature, 
A tame domestic boar by nature. 
Gone wild as boar that ever grunted, 
By Baron Ho^gerhausen hunted. 
His back was up, and on its ledge 
The bristles rose like quickset hedge ; 
His eye was fierce and red as coal, 
Like furnace, shining through a hole, 
And restless turned for mischief seeking ; 
His very hide with rase was reekino- • 
And oft he gnashed his crooked tusks. 
Chewing his tongue instead of husks. 
Till all his jaw was white and yeasty, 
Showing him savage, fierce, and resty. 



And what had caused this mighty vapor ? 
A dirty fragment of a paper. 
That in his rambles he had found, 
Lying neglected on the ground ; 
A relic of the Morning Post, 
Two tattered columns at the most. 
But which our irritated swine 
(Derived from Learned Toby's line) 



278 THE BLUE BOAE. 

Digested easy as his meals, 
Like any quidnunc Cit at Peel's. 

He read, and mused, and pored, and read, 

His shoulders shrugged, and shook his head ; 

Now at a line he gave a grutit. 

Now at a phrase took sudden stunt. 

And snorting turned his back upon it, 

But always came again to con it ; 

In short, he petted up his passion, 

After a very human fashion. 

When Temper's worried with a bone, 

She'll neither like nor let alone. 

At last his fury reached the pitch 

Of that most irritating itch, 

When mind and will, in fevered faction, 

Prompt blood and body into action ; 

No matter what, so bone and muscle 

May vent the frenzy in a bustle ; 

But whether by a fight or dance 

Is left to impulse or to chance. 

So stood the Boar, in furious mood, 

Made up for any thing but good ; 

He gave his tail a tighter twist. 

As men in anger clench the fist. 

And threw fresh sparkles in his eye 

From the volcano of his fry — 

Ready to raze the parish pound, 

To pull the pig-sty to the ground, 

To lay 'Squire Giles, his master, level, 

Ready, indeed, to play the devil. 

So, stirred by raving demagogues, 
I've seen men rush, like rabid dogs, 



THE BLUB BOAR. 279 

Stark staring from the Pig and Whistle, 
And, like his Boarship, in a bristle. 
Resolved unanimous on rumpus 
From any quarter of the compass ; 
But whether to duck Aldgate Pump 
(For wits in madness never jump), 
To liberate the beasts from Cross's ; 
Or hiss at all the Wigs in Boss's ; 
On Waithman's column hang a weeper ; 
Or tar and feather the old sweeper ; 
Or break the panes of landlord scurvy, 
And turn the King's Head topsy-turvy ; 
Rebuild, or pull down, London Wall ; 
Or take his cross from old Saint Paul ; 
Or burn those wooden Highland fellows. 
The snuif-men's idols, 'neath the gallows ; 
None fixed or cared — but all were loyal 
To one design— a battle royal. 

Thus stood the Boar, athirst for blood, 
Trampling the Morning Post to mud, 
With tusks prepared to run a-muck ; 
And sorrow for the mortal's luck 
That came across him, Yf hig or Tory — 
It would have been a tragic story ; 
But Fortune interposing now, 
Brought Bessy into play — a Sow ; — 
A fat, sleek, philosophic beast. 
That never fretted in the least. 
Whether her grains were sour or sweet, 
For grains are grains, and she could eat. 
Absorbed in two great schemes capacious, 
The farrow, and the farinaceous, 



280 THE BLUE BOAR. 

If cares she had, they could not stay, 
She drank, and ivashed them all away. 
In fact, this philosophic sow 
Was very like a German frow ; 
In brief — as wit should be and fun — 
If sows turn Quakers, she was one ; 
Clad from the duckpond, thick and slab, 
In bran-new muddy suit of drab. 

To still the storm of such a lubber, 
She came like oil — at least like blubber- 
Her pigtail of as passive shape 
As ever drooped o'er powdered nape ; 
Her snout scarce turning up — her deep 
Small eyes half settled into sleep ; 
Her ample ears, dependent, meek, 
Like fig-leaves shading either cheek ; 
While, from the corner of her jaw, 
A sprout of cabbage, green and raw, 
Protruded — as the Dove, so stanch 
For Peace, supports an olive-branch — 
Her very grunt, so low and mild, 
Like the soft snoring of a child, 
Inquiring into his disquiets, 
Served like the Riot Act, at riots — 
He laid his restive bristles flatter. 
And took to arguefy the matter. 

^' Bess, Bess, here's heavy news ! 
They mean to 'mancipate the Jews ! 
Just as they turned the blacks to whites, 
They want to give them equal rights. 
And in the twinkling of a steeple. 
Make Hebrews quite like other people. 



THE BLUE BOAR. 281 

Here, read — but I forget your fetters, 
You've studied litters more than letters." 

''Well/' quoth the Sow, " and no great miss, 
I'm sure my ignorance is bliss ; 
Contentedly I bite and sup, 
And never let my flare flare-up ; 
While you get wild and fuming hot — 
What matters Jews be Jews or not ? 
Whether they go with beards like Moses, 
Or barbers take them by the noses, 
Whether they live, permitted dwellers. 
In Cheapside shops, or Rag Fair cellars. 
Or climb their way to civic perches. 
Or go to synagogues or churches ?" 

^' Churches ! — ay, there the question grapples; 
'No, Bess, the Jews will go to Chappell's !" 

^' To chapel — well — what's that to you? 

A Berkshire Boar, and not a Jew ? 

We pigs — remember the remark 

Of our old drover, Samuel Slark, 

When trying, but he tried in vain, 

To coax me into Sermon Lane, 

Or Paternoster's pious Row — 

But still I stood and grunted No ! 

Of Lane and Creed an equal scorner, 

Till bolting off at Amen Corner, 

He cried, provoked at my evasion, 

^ Pigs, blow 'em ! ar'nt of no persuasion !' " 

''The more's the pity, Bess, the more," 
Said, with sardonic grin, the Boar ; 



282 THE BLUE BOAR. 

^' If Pigs were Methodists and Bunyans, 
They'd make a sin of sage and onions ; 
The curse of endless flames endorse 
On every boat of apple-sauce ; 
Give brine to Satan, and assess 
Blackpuddings with bloodguiltiness ; 
Yea, call down heavenly fire and smoke 
To burn all Epping into coke !" 

" Ay," cried the Sow, extremely placid, 
In utter contrast to his acid, 
''Ay, that would be a Sect indeed ! 
And every swine would like the creed, 
The sausage-making curse and all ; 
And should some brother have a call, 
To thump a cushion to that measure, 
I would sit under him with pleasure ; 
Nay, put down half my private fortune 
T' endow a chapel at Hog's Norton. — • 
But what has this to do, my deary, 
With their new Hebrew whigmaleery ?" 

'' Sow that you are ! this Bill, if current. 
Would be as good as our death-warrant ; 
And with its legislative friskings, 
Loose twelve new tribes upon our griskins ! 
Unjew the Jews, what follows then ? 
Why, they'll eat pork like other men. 
And you shall see a Babbi dish up 
A chiDO as freely as a Bishop ! 
Thousands of years have passed, and pork 
Was never stuck on Hebrew fork ; 
But now, suppose that relish rare 
Fresh added to their bill of fare, 



THE BLUE BOAE. 283 

Fry, harslet, pettitoes, and chine, 
Leg, choppers, bacon, ham and loin. 

And then, beyond all goose or duckling — " 

" Yes, jes, a little tender suckling ! 

It must be held the aptest savor 

To make the eager mouth to slaver ! 

Merely to look on such a gruntling, 

A plump, white, sleek, and sappy runtling. 

It makes one — ah ! remembrance bitter 1 

It made me eat my own dear litter !" 

"Think, then, with this new wakened fury, 
How we should fare if tried by Jewry ! 
A pest upon the meddling Whigs ! 
There '11 be a pretty run on pigs ! 
This very morn a Hebrew brother, 
With three hats stuck on one another, 
And o'er his arm a bag, or poke, 
A thing pigs never find a joke, 
Stopped — rip the fellow— though he knew 
I've neither coat to sell nor shoe, 
And cocked his nose — right at me, lovey 1 
Just like a pointer at a covey ! 

To set our only friends agin us ! 

That neither care to fat or thin us ! 

To boil, to broil, to roast, or fry us, 

But act like real Christians by us ! — 

A murrain on all legislators 1 

Thin wash, sour grains, and rotten 'taters ! 

A bulldog at their, ears and tails ! 

The curse of empty troughs and pails 



284 THE BLUE BOAR. 

Pamish their flanks as thin as weasels ! 
May all their children have the measles } 
Or in the straw untimely smother, 
Or make a dinner for. the mother ! 
A cartwhip for all law inventors ! 
And rubbing-posts stuck full of tenters ! 
Yokes, rusty rings, and gates to hitch in, 
And parish pounds to pine the flitch in, 
Cold, and high v/inds, the Devil send 'em — 
And then may Sam the Sticker end 'em I" 

'Twas strange to hear him how he swore ! 
A boar will curse, though like a boar, 
While Bess, like Pity, at his side 
Her swine-subduing voice supplied ! 
She bade him such a rage discard ; 
That anger is a foe to lard ; 
'Tis bad for sugar to get wet, 
And quite as bad for fat to fret ; 
'' Besides" — she argued thus at last — 
*' The Bill you fume at has not passed, 
For why, the Commons and the Peers 
Have come together by the ears : 
Or rather, as we pigs repose, 
One's tail beside the other's nose, 
And thus, of course, take adverse views, 
Whether of Gentiles or of Jews. 
Who knows ? They say the Lords' ill-will 
Has thrown out many a wholesome Bill, 
And p'rhaps some Peer to Pigs propitious 
May swamp a measure so Jew-dish-us P 

The Boar was conquered at a glance. 
He saw there really was a chance — 



J 



JACK HALL. 285 

That as the Hebrew nose is hooked. 



■■5 



The Bill was equally as crooked ; 
And might outlast, thank party embers, 
A dozen tribes of Christian members ; — 
So down he settled in the mud, 
With smoother back, and cooler blood, 
As mild, as quiet, a Blue Boar 
As any over tavern-door. 

MORAL. 

The chance is small that any measure 
Will give all classes equal pleasure ; 
Since Tory Ministers or Whigs 
Sometimes can't even please the Pigs. 



JACK HALL. 



'TiS very hard when men forsake 
This melancholy world, and make 
A bed of turf, they cannot take 

A quiet doze, 
But certain rogues will come and break 

Their " bone repose," 

'Tis hard we can't give up our breath, 
And to the earth our earth bequeath, 
Without Death Fetches after death, 

Who thus exhume us ; 
And snatch us from our homes beneath. 

And hearths posthumous. 



286 JACK HALL. 

The tender lover comes to rear 

The mournful urn, and shed his tear — 

Her glorious dast, he cries, is here ! 

Alack ! alack ! 
The while his Sacharissa dear 

Is in a sack ! 

'Tis hard one cannot lie amid 
The mould, beneath a coffin-lid, 
But thus the Faculty will bid 

Their rogues break through it ! 
If they don't want us there, why did 

They send us to it ? 

One of these sacrilegious knaves, 
Who crave as hungry vulture craves, 
Behaving as the goul behaves, 

'Neath church-yard wall 
Mayhap because he fed on graves. 

Was named Jack HalL 

By day it was his trade to go 
Tendins; the black coach to and fro ; 
And sometimes at the door of woe, 

With emblems suitable, 
He stood with brother Mute, to show 

That life is mutable. 

But long before they passed the ferry, 
The dead that he had helped to bury, 
He sacked — (he had a sack to carry 

The bodies oiF in.) 
In fact, he let them have a very 

Short fit of coffin. 



JACK HALL. 287 

Night after night, with crow and spade. 
He drove this dead but thriving trade • 
Meanwhile his conscience never weighed 

A single horsehair ; 
On corses of all kinds he preyed, 

A perfect corsair ! 

At last — it may be, Death took spite, 
Or jesting, only meant to fright — 
He sought for Jack night after night 

The church-yards round ; 
And soon they met, the man and sprite, 

In Pancras' ground. 

Jack, by the glimpses of the moon, 
Perceived the bony knacker soon. 
An awful shape to meet at noon 

Of night, and lonely ; 
But Jack's tough courage did but swoon 

A minute only. 

Anon he gave his spade a swing 
Aloft, and kept it brandishing, 
Ready for what mishaps might spring 

From this conjunction ; 
Funking indeed was quite a thing 

Beside his function. 

" Hallo V cried Death, "d'ye wish your sands 
Bun out? the stoutest never stands 
A chance with me ; — to my commands 

The strongest truckles ; 
But I'm your friend — so let's shake hands, 

I should say — knuckles." 



288 . JACK HALL. 

Jack, glad to see tli' old sprite so sprightly, 
And meaning nothing but uprightly, 
Shook hands at once^ and, bowing slightly, 

His mull did proffer : 
But Death, who had no nose, politely 

Declined the offer. 

Then sitting down upon a bank, 
Leg over leg, shank over shank. 
Like friends for conversation frank. 

That had no check on : 
Quoth Jack unto the Lean and Lank, 

"You're Death, I reckon." 

The Jaw-bone grinned : — "I am that same, 
You've hit exactly on my name ; 
In truth it has some little fame 

Where burial sod is." 
Quoth Jack (and winked), "Of course you came 

Here after bodies." 

Death grinned again, and shook his head : 
" I've little business with the dead ; 
When they are fairly sent to bed 

I've done my turn : 
Whether or not the worms are fed 

Is your concern. 

" My errand here, in meeting you, 
Is nothing bu-t a ' how-d'ye do ;' 
I've done what jobs I had — a few 

Along this way; 
If I can serve a crony too, 

I beg you'll say." 



JACK HALL. 289 

Quoth Jack, " Your Honor's very kindi 
And now I call the thing to mind, 
This parish very strict I find ; 

But in the next 'un 
There lives a very well inclined 

Old sort of sexton." 

Death took the hint, and gave a wink 
As well as eyelet holes can blink ; 
Then stretching out his arm to link 

The other's arm — 
'' Suppose," says he, '^ we have a drink 

Of something warm." 

Jack,' nothing loth, with friendly ease, 
Spoke up at once : — " Why, what ye please, 
Hard by there is the Cheshire Cheese, 

A famous tap." 
But this suggestion seemed to tease 

The bony chap. 

'' No, no ; — your mortal drinks are heady, 
And only make my hand unsteady ; 
I do not even care for Heady, 

And loathe your rum ; 
But I've some glorious brewage ready, 

My drink is — mum 1" 

And off they set, each right content ; 
Who knows the dreary way they went ? 
But Jack felt rather faint and spent, 

And out of breath ; 
At last he saw, quite evident. 

The Door of Death. 
13 



290 JACK HALL. 

All other men had been unmanned 
To see a coffin on each hand, 
That served a skeleton to stand 

B J "way of sentry ; 
In fact. Death has a very grand 

And awful entry. 



Throughout his dismal sign prevails, 
His name is writ in coffin-nails ; 
The mortal darts make area rails ; 

A scull that mocketh, 
Grins on the gloomy gate, and quails 

Whoever knocketh. 

And lo ! on either side, arise 

Two monstrous pillars — bones of thighs : 

A monumental slab supplies 

The step of stone, 
Where, waiting for his master, lies 

A dog of bone. 

The dog leaped up, but gave no yell, 
The wire was pulled, but woke no bell, 
The ghastly knocker rose and fell. 

But caused no riot ; 
The ways of Death, we all know well, 

Are very quiet. 

Old Bones stepped in ; Jack stepped behind 
Quoth Death, " I really hope you'll find 
The entertainment to your mind. 

As I shall treat ye — 
A friend or two of goblin kind, 

I've asked to meet ye." 



JACK HALL. 291 

And lo ! a crowd of spectres tall, 
Like jack-a-lanterns on a wall, 
Were standing — every ghastly ball 

An eager watcher. 
'' My friends," says Death — " friends, Mr. Hall, 

The body-snatcher." 

Lord, what a tumult it produced, 
When Mr. Hall was introduced ! 
Jack even, who had long been used 

To frightful things, 
Felt just as if his back were sluiced 

With freezing springs ! 

Each goblin face began to make 

Some horrid mouth — ape — gorgon — snake j 

And then a spectre-hag would shake 

An airy thigh-bone ; 
And cried (or seemed to cry), I'll break 

Your bone, with my bone ! 

Some ground their teeth ; some seemed to spit — 
(Nothing but nothing came of it) ; 
A hundred awful brows were knit 

In dreadful spite. 
Thought Jack — I'm sure I'd better quit, 

Without good-night. 

One skip and hop, and he was clear. 
And, running like a hunted deer, 
As fleet as people run by fear 

Well spurred and whipped, 
Death, ghosts, and all in that career 

Were quite outstripped. 



292 JACK HALL. 

But those who live by death, must die ; 
Jack's soul at last prepared to fly ; 
And when his latter end drew nigh, 

Oh ! what a swarm 
Of doctors came ; but not to try 

To keep him warm. 

No ravens ever scented prey 
So early where a dead horse lay, 
Nor vultures sniffed so far away 

A last convulse : 
A dozen '' guests" day after day 

Were " at his pulse." 

'Twas strange, although they got no fees, 
How still they watched by twos and threes : 
But Jack a very little ease 

Obtained from them ; 
In fact he did not find M. D.s 

Worth one D— M. 

The passing bell with hollow toll 

Was in his thought ; — the dreary hole ! 

Jack gave his eyes a horrid roll, 

And then a cough : — 
" There's something weighing on my soul 

I wish was off; 

^' All night it roves about my brains, 
All day it adds to all my pains : 
It is concerning my remains 

When I am dead :" 
Twelve wigs and twelve gold-headed canes 

Drew near his bed. 



JACK HALL. 293 

'^ Alas !" he sighed, ''I'm sore afraid, 
A dozen pangs mj heart invade ; 
But when I drove a certain trade 

In flesh and bone, 
There was a little bargain made 

About mj own." 

Twelve suits of black began to close, 
Twelve pair of sleek and sable hose, 
Twelve flowing cambric frills in rows, 

At once drew round ; 
Twelve noses turned against his nose, 

Twelve snubs profound. 

" Ten guineas did not quite suffice, 
And so I sold my body twice ; 
Twice did not do — I sold it thrice ; 

Forgive my crimes ! 
In short, I have received its price 

A dozen times!" 

Twelve brows got very grim and black. 
Twelve wishes stretched him on the rack, 
Twelve pair of hands for fierce attack 

Took up position. 
Ready to share the dying Jack 

By long division. 

Twelve angry doctors wrangled so. 
That twelve had struck an hour ago, 
Before they had an eye to throw 

On the departed ; 
Twelve heads turned round at once, and lo ! 

Twelve doctors started. 



294 JOHN TEOT. 

Whether some comrade of the dead, 

Or Satan took it in his head 

To steal the corpse — the corpse had fled ! 

'Tis only written, 
That '' there was nothing in the bed, 

But twelve were bitten 



JOHN TROT. 

A BALLAD. 



John Trot he was as tall a lad 
As York did ever rear ; . 

As his dear Granny used to say. 
He'd make a grenadier. 

A sergeant soon came down to York, 
With ribbons and a frill ; 

My lads, said he, let broadcast be, 
And come away to drill. 

But when he wanted John to list, 

'In war he saw no fun, 
Where what is called a raw recruit 

Gets often over-done. 

Let others carry guns, said he. 

And go to war's alarms ; 
But I have got a shoulder-knot 

Imposed upon my arms. 

For John he had a footman's place 
To wait on Lady Wye — 

She was a dumpy woman, though 
Her family was high. 



JOHN TROT. 295 

Now when two years had passed away. 

Her lord took very ill, 
And left her to her widowhood. 

Of course more dumpy still. 

Said John, I am a proper man, ' 

And very tall to see ; 
Who knows, but now, her lord is low, 

She may look up to me ? 

A cunning woman told me once, 

Such fortune would turn up ; 
She was a kind of sorceress, 

But studied in a cup ! " 

So he walked up to Lady Wye, 

And took her quite amazed ; 
She thought, though John was tall enough, 

He wanted to be raised. 

But John — for why ? she was a dame 

Of such a dwarfish sort — 
Had only come to bid her make 

Her mourning very short. 

Said he, Your lord is dead and cold, 

You only cry in vain ; 
Not all the cries of London now 

Could call him back again ! 

You'll soon have many a noble beau 

To dry your noble tears ; 
But just consider this, that I 

Have followed you for years. 



296 JOHN TROT. 

And though yon are above me far. 

What matters high degree, 
When you are only four foot nine, 

And I am six foot three ? 

For though you are of lofty race. 

And I'm a low-born elf ; 
Yet none among your friends could say 

You matched beneath yourself. 

Said she, Such insolence as this 

Can be no common case ; 
Though you are in my service, sir, 

Your love is out of place. 

Lady Wye ! Lady Wye ! 

Consider what you do ; 
How can you be so short with me, 

I am not so with you ? 

Then ringing for her serving men. 
They showed him to the door : 

Said they, You turn out better now 
Why didn't you before ? 

They stripped his coat, and gave him kicks 

For all his wages due ; 
And off, instead of green and gold, 

He went in black and blue. 

No family would take him in, 

Because of this discharge ; 
So he made up his mind to serve 

The country all at large. 



DRINKING SONG. 297 

Huzza ! the sergeant cried, and put 

The money in his hand. 
And with a shilling cut him off 

Erom his paternal land. 

For when his regiment went to fight 

At Saragossa town, 
A Frenchman thought he looked too tall, 

And so he cut him down ! 



DRINKING SONG. 



BY A MEMBER OP A TEMPERANCE SOCIEfT, AS SUNG BY MR. 
SPRING, AT waterman's HALLI 

Come, pass around the pail, boys, and give it no quarter, 

Drink deep, and drink oft, and replenish your jugs. 
Fill up, and I'll give you a toast to your w^ater — 
The Turncock for ever 1 that opens the plugs ! 
Then hey for a bucket, a bucket, a bucket. 

Then hey for a bucket, filled up to the brim ! 
Or, best of all notions, let's have it by oceanSj 
With plenty of room for a sink or a swim ! 

Let topers, of grape-juice exultingly vapor ; 

But let us just whisper a word to the elves : 
We water roads, horses, silks, ribands, bank-paper, 

Plants, poets, and muses, and why not ourselves ? 
Then hey for a bucket, etc. 

The vintage, they cry, think of Spain's and of France's. 

The jigs, the boleros, fandangos, and jumps ; 
But water's the spring of all civilized dances, 
, We go to a ball not in bottles, but pumps ! 
Then hey for a bucket, etc. 
13* 



298 DRINKINa SONG. 

Let others of Dorchester quaff at their pleasure, 
Or honor old Meux with their thirsty regard — 

We'll drink Adam's ale, and we get it jjool measure, 
Or quaff heavy wet from the butt in the yard ! 
Then hey for a bucket, etc. 

Some flatter gin, brandy, and rum, on their merits, 
Grog, punch, and what not, that enliven a feast : 

'Tis true that they stir up the animal spirits, 
But may not the animal turn out a beast ? 

Then hey for a bucket, etc. 

The Man of the Ark, who continued our species. 
He saved us by water — ^but as for the wine, 

We all know the figure, more sad than facetious, 
He made after tasting the juice of the vine. 
Then hey for a bucket, etc. 

In wine let a lover remember his jewel. 

And pledge her in bumpers filled brimming and oft ; 
But we can distinguish the kind from the cruel, 

And toast them in water, the hard or the soft. 
Then hey for a bucket, etc. 

Some crossed in their passion can never o'erlook it. 
But take to a pistol, a knife, or a beam ; 

While temperate swains are enabled to hrook it 
By help of a little meandering stream. 

Then hey for a bucket, etc. 

Should Fortune diminish our cash's sum-total, 
Deranging our wits and our private affairs, 

Though some in such cases would fly to the bottle, 
There's nothing like Avater for drowning our cares. 
Then hey for a bucket, etc. 



ON THE FOURTEENTH OF FEBRUARY. 299 

See drinkers of water their wits never lacking, 
Direct as a railroad and smooth in their gaits ; 

But look at the bibbers of wine, thej go tacking, 

Like ships that have met a foul wind in the straights. 
Then hej for a bucket, etc. 

A fig then for Burgundy, Claret, or Mountain, 
A few scanty glasses must limit your wish, 

But he's the true toper that goes to the fountain. 
The drinker that verily '' drinks like a fish !" 
Then hey for a bucket, etc. 



SUGGESTIONS BY STEAM. 

When woman is in rags and poor, 

And sorrow, cold, and hunger tease her, 

If man would only listen more 

To that small voice that crieth — ''Ease her !" 

Without the guidance of a friend. 

Though legal sharks and screws attack her, 

If man would only more attend 

To that small voice that crieth — '' Back her!" 

So oft it would not be his fate 

To witness some despairing dropper 

In Thames's tide, and run too late 

To that small voice that crieth — " Stop her !" 



300 DEATH IN THE KITCHEN. 



DEATH m THE KITCHEN. 

"Are we not here now?" continued the corporal (striking the end of his stick per- 
pendicularly on the floor, so as to give an idea of health and stability) — "and are we 
not" (dropping his hat upon the ground) "gone ? — In a moment!" — Tristram Sha7idij. 

Trim, thou art right ! — "Tis sure that I, 
And all who hear thee, are to die. 

The stoutest lad and wench 
Must lose their places at the will 
Of Death, and go at last to fill 

The sexton's gloomy trench. 

The dreary grave 1 — 0, when I think 
How close ye stand upon its brink, 

My inward' spirit groans ! 
My eyes are filled with dismal dreams 
Of coffins, and this kitchen seems 

A charnel full of bones ! 

Yes, jovial butler, thou must fail, « 

As sinks the froth on thine own ale ; 

Thy days will soon be done ! 
Alas ! the common hours that strike, 
Are knells, for life keeps wasting, like 

A cask upon the run. 

Ay, hapless scullion ! 'tis thy case , 
♦ Life travels at a scouring pace, 

Par swifter than thy hand. 
The fast-decaying frame of man 
Is but a kettle or a pan, 

Time wears away with — sand! 



DEATH IN THE KITCHEN. 301 

Thou needst not, mistress cook ! be told, 
The meat to-morrow "will be cold 

That now is fresh and hot : 
E'en thus our flesh will, bj and by. 
Be cold as stone : — Cook, thou must die ; 

There's death within the pot. 

Susannah, too, my lady's maid, 
Thy pretty person once must aid 

To swell the buried swarm ! 
The ''glass of fashion" thou wilt hold 
'No more, but grovel in the mould. 

That's not the ^- mould of form T^ 

Yes, Jonathan, that drives the coach. 
He too will feel the fiend's approach — 

The grave will pluck him down : 
He must in dust and ashes lie, 
And wear the churchyard livery, 

Grass green, turned up with brown. 

How frail is our uncertain breath ! 

The laundress seems full hale, but Death 

Shall her '' last linen" bring. 
The groom will die, like all his kind ; 
And e'en the stable boy will find 

This life no stable thing. 

Nay, see the household dog — even that 
The earth shall take ; — the very cat 

Will share the common fall ; 
Although she hold (the proverb saith) 
A ninefold life, one single death 

Suffices for them all ! 



302 THE DEAD EOBBEEY. 

Cookj butler, Susan, Jonathan, 
The girl that scours the pot and pan, 

And those that tend the steeds — 
AH, all shall have another sort 
Of service after this ; — in short 

The one the parson reads 1 

The dreary grave ! — 0, when I think 
How close ye stand upon its brink, 

My inward spirit groans ! 
My eyes are filled with dismal dreams 
Of coffins, and this kitchen seems 

A charnel full of bones ! 



THE DEAD ROBBERY. 

" Here's that will sack a city." — Heitoy rv. 

Of all the causes that induce mankind 

To strike against themselves a mortal docket. 
Two eminent above the rest we find — 

To be in love, or to be out of pocket : 
Both have made many melancholy martyrs. 

But, p'rhaps, of all the felonies de se. 
By ponds, and pistols, razors, ropes and garters, 

Two thirds have been through want of <£. s. d. 

Thus happened it with Peter Bunce ; 
Both in the dumps and out of them at once, 
From always drawing blanks in Fortune's lottery, 
At last, impatient of the light of day. 
He made his mind up to return his clay 
Back to the pottery. 



THE DEAD ROBBERY. 303 

Feigning a raging tooth that drove him mad, 
From twenty divers druggists' shops 
He begged enough of laudanum drops 
T' effect the fatal purpose that he had ; 
He drank them, died, and while old Charon ferried him. 
The Coroner convened a dozen men, 
Who found his death was phial-Qiit — and then 
The parish buried him ! 

Unwatched, unwept. 
As commonly a pauper sleeps, he slept ; 
There could not be a better opportunity 
For bodies to steal a body so ill kept, 

With all impunity : 
In fact when night o'er human vice and folly 
Had drawn her very necessary curtains, 
Down came a fellow with a sack and spade, 
Accustomed many years to drive a trade 
With an Anatomy more Melancholy 

Than Burton's ! 

The watchman in his box was dozing ; 
The Sexton drinking at the Cheshire Cheese ; 

No fear of any creature interposing. 
The human jackal worked away at ease : 
He tossed the mould to left and right, 
The shabby coffin came in sight. 
And soon it opened to his double knocks — 
When lo ! the stiff' un that he thought to meet, 
Starts sudden up, like Jacky-in-a-box, 
Upon his seat ! 

Awakened from his trance. 
For so the laudanum had wrought by chance, 



304 THE DEAD ROBBERY. 

Bunce stares up at the moon, next looking level, 

He spies a shadj figure, tall and bony, 

Then shudders out these words, "Are—you — the — Devil?" 

" The Devil a bit of him," says Mike Mahony, 

'^ I'm only com'd here, hoping no affront. 

To pick up honestly, a little blunt — " 

'' Blunt !" echoes Bunce, with a hoarse croak of laughter, 

''Why, man, I turned life's candle in the socket. 

Without a rap in either pocket, 
For want of that same blunt you're looking after !" 
" That's true," says Mike, " and many a pretty man 
Has cut his stick upon your very plan, 
Not worth a copper, him and all his trumps, 
And yet he's fetched a dacent lot of stuff. 
Provided he was sound and fresh enough, 
And dead as dumps," 

"I take," quoth Bunce, with a hard wink, "the fact is, 
You mean a subject for a surgeon's practice — 
I hope the question is not out of reason, 
But just suppose a lot of flesh and bone. 

For instance like my own, 
What might it chance to fetch now at this season?" 
"Fetch is it?" answers Mike, " why prices differ — 
But taking this same sihall bad job of ours, 

I reckon, by the powers ! 
I've lost ten pounds by your not being stiffer !" 

"Ten pounds !" Bunch echoes in a sort of flurry, 

" Odd zounds ! 

Ten pounds, 
How sweet it sounds. 

Ten pounds !" 
And on his feet upspringing in a hurry — 



THE DEAD ROBBERY. 305 

It seemed the operation of a minute — 

A little scuffle — then a whack — 
And then he took the body snatcher's sack 

And poked him in it ! 

Such is this life ! 
A very pantomime for tricks and strife ! 
See Bunco, so lately in Death's passive stock, 
Invested, now as active as a griffin, 
Walking — no ghost — in velveteens and smock, 
To sell a stiff ^un ! 

A flash of red, then one of blue. 
At last, like light-house, came in view ; 
Bunco rang the night-bell ; wiped his highlows muddy ; 

His errand told ; the sack produced : 
And by a sleepy boy was introduced 
To Dr. Oddy, writing in his study. 
The bargain did not take long time to settle, 
''Ten pounds, 
Odd zounds ! 
How sweet it sounds,. 
Ten pounds," 
Chinked into Bunco's palm in solid metal. 

With joy half-crazed, 

It seemed some trick of sense, some airy gammon — 
He gazed and gazed. 

At last, possessed with the old lust of Mammon, 

Thought he, " with what a very little trouble 

This little capital I now might double" — 

Another scuffle of its usual brevity. 

And Doctor Oddy, in his suit of black, 
Was finishing, within the sack, 
His " Thoughts upon Longevity!" 



306 THE DEAD BOBBERY. 

The trick was done. Without a doubt, 
The sleepy boy let Bunce and burthen out ; 
Who, coming to a lone convenient place, 
The body stripped, hid all the clothes, and then, 
Still favored by the luck of evil men, 
Pound a new customer in Dr. Case. 
All more minute particulars to smother. 
Let it suffice. 
Nine guineas was the price 
For which one doctor bought the other ; 

As once I heard a preacher say in Guinea, 
^' You see how one black sin bring on anudder, 

Like little nigger pickaninny, 
A-riding pick-a-back upon him mudder 1" 
"Humph!" said the Doctor, with a smile sarcastic, 
Seeming to trace 
Some likeness in the face, 
" So Death at last has taken old Bombastic !" 
But in the very middle of his joking, 
The subject, still unconscious of the scoff. 
Seized all at once with a bad fit of choking, 

He too was taken off ! 
Leaving a fragment '''' On the Hooping Cough." 



Satan still sending luck. 
Another body found another buyer : 
Eor ten pounds ten the bargain next was struck, 

Dead doctors going higher. 
" Here," said the purchaser, with smile quite pleasant, 
Taking a glimpse at his departed brother, 
" Here's half a guinea in the way of present; 
Subjects are scarce, and when you get another. 



THE DEAD ROBBERY. 807 

Let me be first." Bunce took him at his word, 
And suddenly his old atrocious trick did, 

Sacking M. D. the third. 
Ere he could furnish '' Hints to the Afflicted." 

Flushed with success, 

Beyond all hope or guess. 
His new dead-robberj upon his back, 
Bunce plotted — such high flights ambition takes — 
To treat the Faculty like ducks and drakes, 
And sell them all ere they could utter " Quack !" 
But Fate opposed. According to the schools. 
When men become insufferably bad. 

The gods confer to drive them mad : 
March hairs upon the heads of April fools ! 

Tempted by the old demon avaricious, 
Bunce traded on too far into the morning ; 
Till nods, and winks, and looks, and signs suspicious, 

Even words malicious, 
Forced on him rather an unpleasant warning. 
Glad was he to perceive, beside a wicket, 
A porter, ornamented with a ticket. 
Who did not seem to be at all too busy : 

'' Here, my good man. 

Just show me, if you can, 
A doctor's — if you want to earn a tizzy !" 

Away the porter marches. 
And with grave face, obsequious, precedes him, 
Down crooked lanes, round corners, under arches ; 
At last, up an old-fashioned staircase leads him. 



308 THE DEAD ROBBEEY. 

Almost impervious to the morning ray, 
Then shows a door — " There, that's a doctor's reckoned, 
A rare Top- Sawyer, let who will come second — 
Good-day." 

cc pjjj right," thought Bunco, '' as any trivet ; 
Another venture — and then up I give it !" 
He rings ; — the door, just like a fairy portal. 

Opens untouched by mortal : 
He gropes his way into a dingy room, 
And hears a voice come growling through the gloom, 
'' Well— eh ?— Who ? What ?— Speak out at once !" 

"I will," says Bunce ; 
'' I've got a sort of article to sell ; 
Medical gemmen know^s me very well — " 
But think, Imagination, how it shocked her, 
To hear the voice roar out — " Death ! Devil ! d — -n ! 

Confound the vagabond ! he thinks I am 
A rhubarb-and-magnesia Doctor !" 
"No Doctor !" exclaimed Bunce, and dropped his jaw, 
But louder still the voice began to bellow — 
" Yes — yes — od zounds ! — I am a Doctor, fellow, 

At law !" 
The word sufficed. Of things Bunce feared the most 

(Next to a ghost) 
Was law — or any of the legal corps ; — 

He dropped at once his load of flesh and bone. 
And, caring for no body, save his own, 
Bolted ; — and lived securely till fourscore, 
From never troubling Doctors any more ! 



AGKICULTURAL DISTRESS. 309 

AGRICULTURAL DISTRESS. 

A PASTORAL REPORT. 

One Sunday morning — service done — 
'Mongst tombstones shining in the sun, 
A knot of bumpkins stood to chat 
Of that and this, and this and that ; 
What people said of Pollj Hatch — 
Which side had won the cricket match ; 
And who was cotched, and w^ho was bowled ; 
How barley, beans, and 'taters sold — 
What men could swallow at a meal — • 
When Bumstead Youths would ring a peal — 
And who was taken off to jail — 
And where they brewed the strongest ale — 
At last this question they address, 
*' Whaf s Agricultural Distress ?" 

HODGE. 

^'For my peart, it's a thought o' mine, 
It be the fancy farming line, 
Like yonder gemman — him I mean, 
As took the Willa nigh the Green — 
And turned his cattle in the wheat ; 
And gave his porkers hay to eat ; 
And sent his footman up to town. 
To ax the Lonnon gentry down. 
To be so kind as make his hay, 
Exactly on St. Swithin's day ; — 
With consequences you may guess — 
That's Hagricultural Distress." 



310 AGRICULTURAL DISTRESS. 

DICKON. 

''Last Monday morning, Master Blogg 
Com'd for to stick our bacon-hog; 
But th' hog he cocked a knowing eye 
As if he twigged the reason why, 
And dodged and dodged 'un such a dance, 
He didn't give the noose a chance ; 
So Master Blogg at last lays off, 
And shams a rattle at the trough, 
When swish ! in bolts our bacon-hog 
Atvfixt the legs o' Master Blogg, 
And flops him down in all the muck 
As hadn't been swept up by luck — 
Now that, accordin' to my guess, 
Be Hagricultural Distress." 

GILES. 

" No, that arn't it, I tell 'ee flat ; 

I'ze bring a worser case nor that ! 

Last Friday week, I takes a start 

To Reading, w^ith our horse and cart ; 

Well, when I'ze set the 'taters down, 

I meets a crony at the Crown ; 

And what betwixt the ale and Tom, 

It's dark afore I start for home ; 

So whipping hard, by long and late. 

At last we reaches nigh the gate, 

And, sure enough, there Master stand, 

A lantern flaring in his hand — 

'Why, Giles,' says he, ' what's that 'un thear ? 

Yond' chestnut horse bean't my bay mear ! 

He bean't not worth a leg o' Bess !'. 

There's Hagricultural Distress !" 



AGRICULTURAL DISTRESS. 311 

HOR. 

'' That's nothin jet, to Tom's mishap ' 
A-going through the yard, poor chap. 
Only to fetch his milking pails, 
When up he shies like head or tails ; 
Nor would the Bull let Tom a-be. 
Till he had tossed the best o' three ; — 
And there lies Tom with broken bones, 
A surgeon's job for Doctor Jones ; 
Well, Doctor Jones lays down the law, 
' There's two crackt ribs, besides a jaw — 
Eat well,' says he, ' stuff out your case, 
For that will keep the ribs in place ;' 
But how was Tom, poor chap, to chaw, 
Seeing aS how he'd broke his jaw, 
That's summut to the pint — yes, yes, 
That's Hagricultural Distress !" 

SIMON. 
'' Well, turn and turn about is fair : 
Tom's bad enough, and so's the mare ; 
But nothing to my load of hay — 
You see, 'twas hard on quarter-day. 
And cash was wanted for. the rent ; 
So up to Lonnon I was sent 
To sell as prime a load of hay 
As ever dried on summer's day. 
Well, standing in Whitechapel Road, 
A chap comes up to buy my load. 
And looks, and looks about the cart, 
Pretending to be cute and smart ; 
But no great judge, as people say, 
'Cause why ? he never smelt the hay. 



312 AaRICULTURAL DISTRESS. 

Thinks I, as he's a simple chap, 

He'll give a simple price mayhap ; 

Such buyers come but now and then, 

So slap I axes nine pun' ten. 

' That's dear,' says he, and pretty quick 

He taps his leather with his stick, 

' Suppose,' says he, ' we wet our clay 

Just while we bargin 'bout the hay.' 

So in we goes, my chap and me ; 

He drinks to I, and I to he ; 

At last, says I, a little gay, 

' It's time to talk about that hay.' 

' Nine pund,' says he, ' and I'm your man, 

Live and let live — for that's my plan.' 

' That's true,' says I, ' but still I say, 

It's nine pun' ten for that 'ere hay.' 

And so we chaffers for a bit, 

At long and last the odds we split ; 

And off he sets to show the way, 

Where up a yard I leaves the hay. 

Then, from the pocket of his coat 

He pulls a book, and picks a note. 

' That's ten,' says he — ' I hope to pay 

Tens upon tens for loads of hay.' 

'With all my heart, and soon,' says I, 

And feeling for the change thereby ; 

But all my shillings comed to five — 

Says he, ' No matter, man alive ! 

There's something in your honest phiz 

I'd trust, if twice the sum it is ; 

You'll pay next time you come to town.' 

^ As .sure,' says I, ' as corn is brown.' 



AGKICULTURAL DISTRESS. 313 

' All right,' says he. — Thinks I ' huzza ! 
He's got no bargain of the hay.' 

" Well home I goes, with empty cart. 

Whipping the horses pretty smart, 

And whistling every yard o' way. 

To think how well I'd sold the hay — 

And just cotched master at his greens 

And bacon, or it might be beans, 

Which didn't taste the worst surety, 

To hear his hay had gone so high. 

But lord ! when I laid down the note, 

It stuck the victuals in his throat, 

And choked him till his face all grew 

Like pickling-cabbage, red and blue ; 

With such big goggle ey6s, Ods nails ! 

They seemed a-coming out like snails ! 

^ A note !' says he, half mad with passion, 

' Why, thou dom'd fool, thou'st took a flash'un V 

Now, was n't that a pretty mess ? 

That's Hagricultural Distress." 

COLIN. 

" Phoo ! phoo ! You're nothing near the thing ! 

You only argy in a ring ; 

' Cause why ? You never cares to look. 

Like me, in any learned book ; 

But scholiards know the wrong and right 

Of every thing in black and white. 

'' Well, Farming, that's its common name. 
And Agriculture be the same : 
14 



314 AGRICULTURAL DISTRESS. 

So put your Farming first, and next 
Distress, and there you have your text. 
But here the question comes to press, 
What farming be, and what's distress ? 
Why, farming is to plough and sow, 
Weed, harrow, harvest, reap, and mow, 
Thrash, winnow, sell, and buy and breed 
The proper stock to fat and feed. 
Distress is want, and pain, and grief, 
And sickness — things as wants relief; 
Thirst, hunger, age, and cold severe ; 
In short, ax any overseer — 
Well, now, the logic for to chop, 
Where's the distress about a crop ? 
There's no distress in keeping sheep, 
I likes to see them frisk and leap ; 
There's no distress in seeing swine 
Grow up to pork and bacon fine ; 
There's no distress in growing wheat 
And grass for men or beasts to eat ; 
And making of lean cattle fat, 
There's no distress, of course, in that. 
Then what remains ? — But one thing more 
And that's the Farming of the Poor ? 



J 
) 



HODGE, DICKON, GILES, HOB, AND SIMON. 

Yea ! — aye ! — sureli/ ! — for sartin ! — ^yes !■ 
Thafs Hagricultural Distress !" 



JOHN JONES. 315 



JOHN" JONES. 

A PATHETIC BALLAD. 
" I saw the iron enter into his soul." — Steene. 

John Jones he was a builder's clerk, 

On ninety pounds a year, 
Before his head was engine-turned 

To be an engineer ! 

For, finding that the iron roads. 

Were quite the public tale, 
Like Kobin Redbreast, all his heart 

Was set upon a rail. 

But oh ! his schemes all ended ill, 
As schemes must come to naught, 

With men who try to make short cuts, 
When cut with something short. 

His altitudes he did not take, 

Like any other elf; 
But first a spirit-level took 

That levelled him himself 

Then, getting up from left to right 

So many tacks he made, 
The ground he meant to go upon 

Got very well surveyed. 

How crows may fly he did not care 

A single fig to know ; 
He wished to make an iron road, 

And not an iron crow. 



316 JOHN JONES. 

So, going to the Kose and Crown, 
To cut his studies short, 

The nearest way from j)int to pint^ 
He found was through a quart. 

According to this rule he planned 
His railroad o'er a cup ; 

But when he came to lay it down, 
No soul would take it up ! 

Alas ! not his the wily arts 
Of men as shrewd as rats, 

Who out of one sole level make 
A precious lot of flats ! 

In vain from Z to crooked S, 
His devious line he showed ; 

Directors even seemed to wish 
For some directer road. 

The writers of the public press 
All sneered at his design ; 

And penny-a-liners wouldn't give 
A penny for his line. 

Yet still he urged his darling scheme, 
In spite of all the fates ; 

Until at last his zigzag ways 
Quite brought him into straits. 

His money gone, of course he sank 
In debt from day to day — ■ 

His way would not pay him — and so 
He could not pay his way. 



A BUNCH OF FORGET-ME-NOTS. 317 

Said lie, ^' All parties run me down 

How bitter is mj cup ! 
My landlord is the only man 

That ever runs me up ! 

'' And he begins to talk of scores, 

And will not draw a cork ;" — 
And then he railed at Fortune, since 

He could not rail at York ! 

The morrow, in a fatal noose 

They found him hanging fast ; 
This sentence scribbled on the wall — 

'Tve got my line at last!" 

Twelve men upon the body sate, 

And thus, on oath, did say, 
"We find he got a gruel, 'cause 

He couldn't have his way P^ 



A BUNCH OF FORGET-ME-NOTS. 

Forget me not ! It is the cry of clay. 
From infancy to age, from ripe to rotten ; 

For who, '' to dumb forgetfuhiess a.prey," 
Would be forgotten ? 

Hark to the poor infant, in the age of pap, 
A little Laplander on nurse's lap, 

Some strange, neglectful, gossiping old Trot, 
Meanwhile on dull Oblivion's lap she lieth, 
In her shrill Baby-lonish language crieth— 
What? 

"Forget me not!" 



318 A BUNCH OF FORGET-ME-NOTS. 

The schoolboy writes unto the self-same tune, 
The yearly letter, guiltless of a blot, 

" We break up on the twenty-third of June ;" 
And then, with comps. from Dr. Polyglot, 
"P. S. Forget me not !" 



When last my elder brother sailed from Quito, 
My chalky foot had in a hobble got — 

Why did he plant his timber toe on my toe, 
To stamp on memory's most tender spot, 
^' For set me not !" 



The dying nabob, on whose shrivelled skin 
The Indian '' mulliga" has left its " tawny, ^' 
Leaving life's pilgrimage so rough and thorny, 

Bindeth his kin 
Two tons of sculptured marble to allot 

A small '' Forget me not !" 

The hardy sailor parting from his wives, 
Sharing among them all that he has got, 

Keeps a fond eye upon their after-lives. 
And says to seventeen — " If I am shot, 
Forget me not." 

Why, all the mob of authors that now trouble 

The world with cold-pressed volumes, and with hot, 

They all are seeking reputation's bubble. 
Hopelessly hoping, like Sir Walter Scott, 

To tie in fame's own handkerchief a double 
Forget-me-knot ! 



ODE TO MISS KELLY, 319 

A past, past tense, 
In fact is sought for by all human kind, 

And hence 
One common Irish wish — to leave ourselves behind! 

Forget me not 1 — It is the common chorus 
Swelled by all those behind us and before us ; 

Each fifth of each November 

Calls out '' Remember ;" 
And even a poor man of straw will try 

To live by dint of powder and of plot. 
In short, it is the cry of every Guy, 
" Forget me not P^ 



ODE TO MISS KELLY 

ON HER OPENING THE STRAND THEATRE. 

Betty — I beg pardon — Fanny K. ! 

(I was just thinking of your Betty Finnikin)— 
Permit me this to say. 
In quite a friendly way — 

1 like your theatre, though but a minnikin ; 

For though small stages Kean dislikes to spout on, 
Renounce me ! if I don't agree with Dowton, 
The Minors are the Passions' proper schools. 

For me, I never can 

Find wisdom in the plan 
That keeps large reservoirs for little Pooles. 

I like your boxes, where the audience sit 
A family circle ; and your little pit ; 



320 ODE TO MISS KELLY. 

I like jour little stage, where you discuss 

Your pleasant bill of fare, 
And show us passengers so rich and rare, 
Your little stage seems quite an omnibus. 

I like exceedingly your Parthian dame, 
Dimly remembering dramatic codgers. 
The ghost of Memory — the shade of Fame ! — 
Lord ! what a housekeeper for Mr. Rogers ! 
I like your Savage, of a one-horse power ; 
And Terence, done in Irish from the Latin ; 
And Sally — quite a kitchen-garden flower ; 
And Mrs. Drake, serene in sky-blue satin ! 
I like your girl as speechless as a mummy — 

It shows you can play dummy !— 
I like your boy, deprived of every gleam 
Of light forever — a benighted being 1 
And really think — though Irish it may seem — 

Your blindness is worth seeing. 

I like your Governess ; and there's a striking 
Tale of Two Brothers, that sets tears a-flowing- 

But I'm not going 
All through the bill to tell you of my liking. 
Suffice it, Fanny Kelly ! with your art 
So much in love, like others, I have grown, 
I really mean myself to take a part 
In '' Free and Easy" — at my own bespeak — 

And shall three times a week 
Drop in and make your pretty house my own ! 



ANSWER TO PAUPER. 321 



ANSWER TO PAUPER * 

Don't tell me of buds and blossoms. 

Or with rose and vi'let wheedle— 
Nosegays grow for other bosoms. 

Churchwarden and Beadle. 
What have you to do with streams ? 

What with sunny skies, or garish 
Cuckoo songs, or pensive dreams ? 

Nature's not your parish ! 

What right have such as you to dun 

For sun or moonbeams, warm or bright ? 
Before you talk about the sun, 

Pay for window-light ! 
Talk of passions — amorous fancies ! 

While your betters' flames miscarry. 
If you love your Dolls and Nancys, 

Don't we make you marry ? 

Talk of wintry chill and storm, 

Fragrant winds that blanch your bones ! 
You poor can always keep you warm ; — 

Ain't there breaking stones ? 
Suppose you don't enjoy the spring, 

Roses fair and vi'lets meek. 
You can't look for everything 

On eighteen pence a week ! 

* The poem to wMch this is an answer will he found among the Notes at 
the end of the volume, entitled Eeply to a Pastoral Poet. 
\ 14* 



322 MISS fanny's farewell flowers. 

With seasons what have you to do ? 

If corn doth thrive, or wheat is harmed ? 
What's weather to the cropless ? You 

Don't farm — but you are farmed ! 
Why everlasting murmurs hurled, 

With hardship for the text ? 
If such as you don't like this world, 

We'll pass you to the next. 

Overseer. 



MISS FANNY'S FAREWELL FLOWERS. 

Not "the posie of a ring." 

Shakspeake (all hut the not). 

I CAME to town a happy man ; 

I need not now dissemble 
Why I return so sad at heart — 

It's all through Fanny Kemble : 
Oh ! when she threw her flowers away, 

What urged the tragic slut on 
To weave in such a wreath as that, 

Ah me ! a bachelor's button. 

None fought so hard, none fought so well, 

As I to gain some token — 
When all the pit rose up in arms. 

And heads and hearts were broken ; 
Huzza! said I, I'll have a flower 

As sure as my name's Dutton ; — 
I made a snatch — I got a catch — 

By Jove I a bachelor's button 1 

I've lost my watch — my hat is smashed — 
My clothes declare the racket ; 



MISS fanny's farewell flowers. 323 

I went there in a full-dress coat, 

And came home in a jacket ; 
Mj nose is swelled, my eye is black, 

Mj lip I've got a cut on — 
Odds buds ! — and what a bud to get — 

The deuce — a bachelor's button ! 

My chest's in pain ; I really fear 

IVe somewhat hurt my bellows, 
By pokes and punches in the ribs 

From those herb-strewing fellows. 
I miss two teeth in my front row ; 

My corn has had a fut on ; 
And all this pain I've had to gain 

This cursed bachelor's button ! 

Had I but won a rose — a bud — 

A pansy or a daisy — 
A periwinkle — anything 

But this — it drives me crazy ! 
My very sherry tastes like squills ; 

I can't enjoy my mutton ; 
And when I sleep I dream of it — ■ 

Still — still — a bachelor's button ! 

My place is booked per coach to-night ; 

But oh ! my spirit trembles 
To think how country friends will ask 

Of Knowleses and of Kembles. 
If they should breathe about the wreath 

When I go back to Sutton, 
I shall not dare to show my share — 

That's all — a bachelor's button ! 



824 ON A PICTURE OF HERO AND LEANDER. 

Mj luck in life was never good, 

But this my fate will harden ; 
I ne'er shall like mj farming more, 

I know I shan't mj garden : 
The turnips all may have the fly. 

And wheat may have the smut on ; 
I care not — I've a blight at heart ; 

Ah me ! — a bachelor's button ! 



ON A PICTURE OF HERO AND LEANDER. 

Why, Lover, why 

Such a water-rover 
Would she love thee more 

For coming half seas over ? 

Why, Lady, why 

So in love with dipping? 

Was't a lad of Greece 
Came all over dripping? 

Why, Cupid, why 

Make the passage brighter? 
Were not any boat 

Better than a lighter ? 

Why, Madam, why 

So intrusive standing ? 
Must thou be on the stair 

When he's on the landing? 



INCENDIARY SONG. 825 



INCENDIARY SONG. 

" A member of the Corresponding Club, writing from Stoke Pogis in a season of 
riot and confusion, concludes his letter as follows : — " P. S. I enclose a curious docu- 
ment : a copy of verses which, perhaps very naturally under the circumstances of the 
times, our Eecorder mistook for an incendiary song." 

Come, all conflagrating fellows 

Let us have a glorious rig : 
Sing old Rose, and burn the bellows ! 

Burn me, but I'll burn mj wig! 

Christmas time is all before us : 
Burn all puddings, north and south. 

Burn the Turkey — burn the Devil ! 
Burn snap-dragon ! burn your mouth ! 

Burn the coals ! they're up at sixty ! 

Burn Burn's Justice — burn old Coke ! 
Burn the chestnuts ! burn the shovel ! 

Burn a fire, and burn the smoke ! 

Burn burnt almonds ! burn burnt brandy ! 

Let all burnings have a turn. 
Burn Chabert, the Salamander — 

Burn the man that wouldn't burn ! 

Burn the old year out ; don't ring it ; 

Burn the one that must begin. 
Burn Lang Syne ; and, while you're burning, 

Burn the burn he paidled in. 

Burn the boxing ! Burn the beadle ! 

Burn the baker ! Burn his man ! 
Burn the butcher — burn the dustman ! 

Burn the sweeper, if you can ! 



326 INCENDIAEY SONG. 

Burn the postman ! burn the postage ! 

Burn the knocker — burn the bell ! 
Burn the folks that come for money ! 

Burn the bills — and burn 'em well. 

Burn the parish ! Burn the rating ! 

Burn all taxes in a mass. 
Burn the paving ! Burn the lighting ! 

Burn the burners ! Burn the gas ! 

Burn all candles, white or yellow ! 

Burn for war, and not for peace ! 
Burn the Czar of all the Tallow I 

Burn the King of all the Greece ! 

Burn all canters — burn in Smithfield ! 

Burn Tea Tottle hum and bug ; 
Burn his kettle, burn his water, 

Burn his muffin, burn his mug ! 

Burn the breeks of meddling vicars. 
Picking holes in Anna's uriis ! 

Burn all Steers' s Opodeldoc, 
Just for being good for burns. 

Burn all swindlers ! Burn Asphaltum ! 

Burn the money-lenders down — 
Burn all schemes that burn one's fingers ! 

Burn the cheapest house in town 1 

Burn all bores and boring topics ; 

Burn Brunei — ay, in his hole ! 
Burn all subjects that are Irish ! 

Burn the niggers black as coal ! 



A REFLECTION. 

Burn all Boz's imitators ! 

Burn all tales without a head ! 
Burn a candle near the curtain, 

Burn your Burns, and burn your bed ! 

Burn all wrongs that won't be righted, 
Poor poor soup, and Spanish claims ; 

Burn that Bell, and burn his Vixen ! 
Burn all sorts of burning shames ! 

Burn the Whigs ! and burn the Tories ! 

Burn all parties, great and small ! 
Burn that everlasting Pojnder — 

Burn his Suttees once for all ! 

Burn the fop that burns tobacco ; 

Burn a critic that condemns ; 
Burn Lucifer and all his matches ! 

Burn the fool that burns the Thames 1 

Burn all burning agitators ! 

Burn all torch parading elves ! 
And oh ! burn Parson Stephen's speeches. 

If they haven't burnt themselves. 



327 



A REFLECTION. 

When Eve upon the first of Men 

The apple pressed, with specious cant. 

Oh ! what a thousand pities then 
That Adam was not Adamant ! 



328 



BEN BLUFF. 
BEN BLUFF. 

A PATHETIC BALLAD. 

" Pshaw, you are not on a whaling voyage, where everything that offers is game." 
-The Pilot. 

Ben Bluff was a whaler, and many a day 
Had chased the huge fish about Baffin's old Bay ; 
But time brought a change his diversion to spoil, 
And that was when Gas took the shine out of Oil. 

He turned up his nose at the fumes of the coke, 
And swore the whole scheme was a bottle of smoke : 
As to London, he briefly delivered his mind, 
^^Sparmacity," said he — but the city declined. 

So Ben cut his line in a sort of a huff, 
As soon as his whales had brought profits enough, 
And hard by the Docks settled down for his life. 
But, true to his text, went to Wales for a wife. 



A big one she was, without figure or waist, 
More bulky than lovely, but that was his taste ; 
In fat she was lapped from her sole to her crown, 
And, turned into oil, would have lighted a town. 

But Ben, like a whaler, was charmed with the match, 
And thought, very truly, his spouse a great catch ; 
A flesh-and-blood emblem of Plenty and Peace, 
And would not have changed her for Helen of Greece ! 

For Greenland was green in his memory still ; 
He'd quitted his trade, but retained the good-will ; 
And often when softened by bumbo and flip. 
Would cry till he blubbered about his old ship. 



BEN BLUFF. 329 

No craft like the Grampus could work through a floe. 
What knots she could run, and what tons she could stow ! 
And then that rich smell he preferred to the rose, 
By just nosing the hold without holding his nose. 

Now Ben he resolved, one fine Saturday night, 

A snus arctic circle of friends to invite ; 

Old tars in the trade, who related old tales. 

And drank, and blew clouds that were ''very like whales.'' 

Of course with their grog there was plenty of chat, 
Of canting, and flenching, and cutting up fat ; 
And how gun-harpoons into fashion had got, 
And if they were meant for the gun- whale or not ? 

At last they retired, and left Ben to his rest, 

By fancies cetaceous and drink well possessed, 

When, lo ! as he lay by his partner in bed. 

He heard something blow through two holes in its head ! 

''A start !" muttered Ben, in the Grampus afloat, 
And made but one jump from the deck to the boat ! 
'' Huzza ! pull away for the blubber and bone — 
I look on that whale as already my own !" 

Then groping about by the light of the moon, 
He soon laid his hand on his trusty harpoon ; 
A moment he poised it, to send it more pat, 
And then made a plunge to imbed it in fat ! 

'' Starn all !" he sang out, " as you care for your lives — 
Starn all ! as you hope to return to your wives — 
Stand by for the flurry ! she throws up the foam ! 
Well done, my old iron ; I've sent you right home !" 



S30 BEN BLUFF. 

And scarce had he spoken, when lo ! bolt upright 
The leviathan rose in a great sheet of white. 
And swiftly advanced for a fathom or two, 
As onlj a fish out of water could do. 

" Starn all !" echoed Ben, with a movement aback, 
But too slow to escape from the creature's attack ; 
If flippers it had, they were furnished with nails — 
You willin, I'll teach you that women ain't whales !" 



(C 



'' Avast !" shouted Ben, with a sort of a screech, 
''I've heard a whale spouting, but here is a speech !" 
" A-spouting, indeed ! — very pretty," said she ; 
" But it's you I'll blow up, not the froth of the sea ! 

" To go to pretend to take me for a fish ! 
You great polar bear — but I know what you wish ; 
You're sick of a wife that your hankering baulks, 
You want to go back to some young Esquimaux !" 

" dearest," cried Ben, frightened out of his life, 

" Don't think I would go for to murder a wife 

I must long have bewailed !" But she only cried " Stuff! 

Don't name it, you brute, you've he-ivhaled me enough !" 

" Lord, Polly !" said Ben, " such a deed could I do ? 
I'd rather have murdered all Wapping than you ! 
Come, forgive what is past." '' Oh you monster !" she cried, 
" It was none of your fault that it passed off one side 1" 

However, at last she inclined to forgive ; 
" But, Ben, take this warning as long as you live — 
If the love of harpooning so strong must prevail, 
Take a whale for a wife — not a wife for a whale !" 



A PUBLIC DINNER. 881 

A PUBLIC DINNER. 

" Sit down and fall to," said the Barmacide,— ^raMaw Nights. 

At seven you just nick it, 

Give card — get wine ticket ; 

Walk round through the Babel, 

From table to table, 

To find — a hard matter — 

Your name in a platter ; 

Your wish was to sit bj 

Your friend Mr. Whitbj, 

But Stewards' assistance 

Has placed jou at distance, 

And, thanks to arrangers. 

You sit among strangers ; 

But too late for mending ; 

Twelve sticks come attending 

A stick of a Chairman, 
A little dark spare man. 
With bald shinino; nob, 
'Mid Committee swell mob ; 
In short, a short figure, 
You thought the Duke bigger ; 
Then silence is wanted, 
Non Nobis is chanted ; 
Then Chairman reads letter, 
The Duke's a regretter, 
A promise to break it, 
But chair he can't take it ; 
Is grieved to be from us, 
But sends friend Sir Thomas, 



332 A PUBLIC DINNER. 

And what is far better. 
A cheque in the letter, 
Hear ! hear ! and a clatter, 
And there ends the matter. 

Now soups come and fish in, 
And C^** brings a dish in ; 
Then rages the battle, 
Knives clatter, forks rattle, 
Steel forks with black handles, 
Under fifty wax candles ; 
Your soup-plate is soon full. 
You sip just a spoonful. 
Mr. Roe will be grateful 
To send him a plateful ; 
And then comes the waiter, 
'' Must trouble for tater ;" 
And then you drink wine off 
With somebody— nine off; 
Bucellas made handy, 
With Cape and bad Brandy, 
Or East India Sherry, 
That's very hot — very. 
You help Mr. Myrtle, 
Then find your mock-turtle 
Went off while you lingered 
With waiter light-fingered. 
To make up for gammon, 
You order some salmon. 
Which comes to your fauces 
With boats without sauces. 
You then make a cut on 
Some Lamb big as Mutton ; 



A PUBLIC DINNER. 333 

And ask for some grass too, 
But that you must pass too ; 
It served the first twenty, 
But toast there is plenty. 
Then, while lamb gets coldish, 
A goose that is oldish — 
At carving not clever — 
You're bagged to dissever, 
And when you thus treat it, 
Find no one will eat it. 
So, hungry as glutton, 
You turn to your mutton. 
But— no sight for laughter — 
The soup it's gone after. 
Mr. Green then is very 
Disposed to take Sherry, 
And then Mr. Nappy 
Will feel very happy ; 
And then Mr, Conner 
Requests the same honor ; 
Mr. Clarke, when at leisure. 
Will really feel pleasure ; 
Then waiter leans over, 
To take off a cover 
From fowls, which all beg of, 
A wing or a leg of; 
And while they all peck bone, 
You take to a neck bone. 
But even your hunger 
Declares for a younger. 
A fresh plate you call for, 
But vainly you bawl for : 
Now taste disapproves it. 



334 A PUBLIC DINNER. 

No waiter removes it. 

Still hope, newlj budding, 

Relies on a pudding ; 

But critics each minute 

Set fancy agin it — 

'' That's queer vermicelli." 

^'I say, Vizetellj, 

There's glue in that jelly." 

^' Tarts bad altogether ; 

That crust's made of leather." 

^' Some custard, friend Yesey?" 

^'No — batter made easy." 

*' Some cheese, Mr. Foster?" 

*' — Don't like single Glo'ster." 

Meanwhile, to top table, 

Like fox in the fable. 

You see silver dishes, 

With those little fishes. 

The white bait delicious 

Borne past you officious ; 

And hear rather plainish 

A sound that's champaignish, 

And glimpse certain bottles 

Made long in the throttles, 

And snifi" — very pleasant I 

Grouse, partridge, and pheasant, 

And see mounds of ices 

For patrons and vices. 

Pine-apple, and bunches 

Of grapes, for sweet munches, 

And fruits of all virtue 

That really desert you. 



A PUBLIC DINNER. 335 

You've nuts, but not crack ones, 
Half empty, and black ones ; 
With oranges sallow — 
They can't be called yellow — 
Some pippins well wrinkled, 
And plums almond sprinkled, 
Some rout cakes, and so on, 
Then with business to go on ; 
Long speeches are stuttered, 
And toasts are well buttered. 
While dames in the gallery, 
All dressed in fallallery, 
Look on at the mummery : 
And listen to flummery. 
Hip, hip ! and huzzaing, 
And singing and saying, 
Glees, catches, orations. 
And lists of donations. 
Hush 1 a song, Mr. Tinney — 
'^ Mr. Benbow, one guinea ; 
Mr. Frederic Manual, 
One guinea — and annual." 
Song^ — Jockey and Jenny — 
'' Mr. Markham one guinea." 
'^ Have you all filled your glasses?" 
Here's a health to good lasses. 
The subscription still skinny — 
"^ Mr. Franklin — one guinea." 
Franklin looks like a ninny ; 
" Mr. Boreham, one guinea- 
Mr. Blogg, Mr. Finney, 
Mr. Tempest — one guinea, 
Mr. Merrington — twenty," 



836 A DROP OF aiN. 

Rough music, in plenty. 
Away toddles Chairman, 
The little dark spare man, 
Not sorry at ending 
With white sticks attending, 
And some vain Tomnoddy, 
Votes in his own body 
To fill the void seat up, 
And get on his feet up, 
To say, with voice squeaking, 
"Unaccustomed to speaking," 
Which sends you off seeking 
Your hat, number thirty — 
No coach — very dirty. 
So, hungry and fevered, 
Wet-footed, spoilt-beavered, 
Eyes aching in socket, 
Ten pounds out of pocket, 
To Brook-street the Upper, 
You haste home to supper. 



A DROP OF GIN. 



Gin ! Gin ! a drop of Gin ! 

What magnified monsters circle therein ! 

Ragged, and stained with filth and mud, 

Some plague-spotted, and some with blood ! 

Shapes of misery, shame, and sin ! 

Figures that make us loathe and tremble, 

Creatures scarce human, that more resemble 

Broods of diabolical kin, 

Ghoul and vampyre, demon and Gin ! 



A DROP OF GIN. 337 

Gin ! Gin ! a drop of Gin ! 

The dram of Satan ! the liquor of Sin ! — 

Distilled from the fell 

Alembics of hell, 
Bj Guilt and Death, his own brother and twin ! 

That man might fall 

Still lower than all 
The meanest creatures with scale and fin. 
But, hold ; — we are neither Barebones nor Prynne, 

Who lashed with such rage 

The sins of the age ; 
Then, instead of making too much of a din, 

Let Anger be mute, 

And sweet Mercy dilute, 
With a drop of Pity, the drop of Gin ! 



Gin ! Gin ! a drop of Gin ! 

When, darkly. Adversity's days set in, 

And the friends and peers 

Of earlier years 
Prove warm without, but cold within, 

And cannot retrace 

A familiar face 
That's steeped in poverty up to the chin ; 
But snub, neglect, cold shoulder, and cut 
The ragged pauper, misfortune's butt ; 
Hardly acknowledged by kith and kin, 

Because, poor rat ! 

He has no cravat, 
A seedy coat, and a hole in that ! — 
No sole to his shoe, and no brim to his hat ; 
Nor a change of linen — except his skin ; 



^38 A DROP OF aiN. 

No gloves, no vest, 

Either second or best ; 
And, what is worse than all the rest, 
No light heart, though his trousers are thin — 

While time elopes 

With all golden hopes. 
And even with those of pewter and tin ; 

The brightest dreams, 

And the best of schemes. 
All knocked down, like a wicket by Mynn. 

Each castle in air 

Seized by giant Despair, 
No prospect in life worth a minnikin pin ; 

No credit, no cash, 

No cold mutton to hash. 

No bread — not even potatoes to mash ; 
No coal in the cellar, no wine in the binn — 

Smashed, broken to bits. 

With judgments and writs; 
Bonds, bills, and cognovits distracting the wits, 
In the webs that the spiders of Chancery spin — 

Till, weary of life, its worry and strife. 

Black visions are rife of a razor, a knife ; 
Of poison — a rope — " louping over a linn." 



Gin ! Gin ! a drop of Gin ! 

Oh ! then its tremendous temptations begin, 

To take, alas I 

To the fatal glass ;^ — 
And happy the wretch that does not win 

To change the black hue 

Of his ruin to " blue" — 



UP THE EHINE." 339 



While angels sorrow, and demons grin- 

And lose the rheumatic 

Chill of his attic 
By plunging into the palace of Gin ! 



"UP THE RHINE." 

Why, Tourist, why 

With Passports have to do ? 
Prythee stay at home and pass 

The Port and Sherry too. 

Why, Tourist, why 

Embark for Rotterdam ? 

Prythee stay at home and take 
Thy Hollands in a dram. 

Why, Tourist, why 

To foreign climes repair ? 
Prythee take thy German Flute, 

And breathe a German air. 

Why, Tourist, why 

The Seven Mountains view ? 
Any one at home can tint 

A hill with Prussian Blue. 

Why, Tourist, why 
To old Colonia's walls ? 

Sure, to see a Wrenish dome, 
One needn't leave St. Paul's. 



340 JOSEPH'S LAMENT. 



JOSEPH'S LAMENT. 

We were just informed that Grimaldi was no longer to 
illuminate the world of pantomime with his annual light. 
Grimaldi retired! Well! "It's growing dark! Boys, 
you may go 1" 

Grimaldi gone ! We scarcely know where we are ; we 
scarcely know how to write ! He was so entirely rich ! 
There was his first distorted escape out of his disguise — 
his cavern of a mouth — his thievish eye — his supple limb — 
and most undoubted laugh. What decay on earth can have 
mastered all these ? Go to ! — he is not retired ! We will 
not believe it. Yet, alack ! his name is not in the bills — 
" Clown, Mr. J. S. Grimaldi." Oh villainous J. S. ! It 
should be, " Clown, Mr. Grimaldi;" or Pantomime should 
betake itself to its weeds, and pine in perfect widowhood. 
We will say, without a fear of contradiction, that there 
not only never was such a clown, but that there never will 
be such another ! 

Grimaldi requires rest — that must be all ; and that we 
can imagine to be possible. ]^o doubt, instead of pulling 
on his motley inexpressibles, and preparing his large lucky 
bag of a pocket, he is now sitting by a cosey fire, with a 
spoonful of Madeira in his eye, and J. S. (good in his way, 
but no Joe) listening to the clownish reminiscences of his 
inimitable papa. Perhaps he speaketh thus — but one 
should see him speak ! — 

Adieu to Mother Goose ! — -adieu, adieu, 

To spangles, tufted heads, and dancing limbs ; 

Adieu to Pantomime — to all — that threw 

O'er Christmas' shoulders a rich robe of whims I 



JOSEPH'S LAMENT. 341 

Never shall old Bologna — (old, alack ! — 
Once he was young and diamonded all o'ei) 

Take his particular Joseph on his back 

And dance the matchless fling, so loved of yore. 

Ne'er shall I build the wondrous verdant man, 
Tall, turnip-headed, carrot-fingered, lean; 

Ne'er shall I, on the very newest plan, 

Cabbage a body ; — like old Joe Frankenstein ; 

Nor make a fire, nor eke compose a coach, 

Of saucepans, trumpets, cheese, and such sweet fare ; 

Sorrow hath " ta'en my number :" — I encroach 
No more upon the chariot — but the chair. 

Gone is the stride, four steps, across the stage ! 

Gone is the light vault o'er a turnpike gate ! 
Sloth puts my legs into its tiresome cage. 

And stops me for a toll — I find, too late ! 

How Ware would quiver his mad bow about 

His rosined tight-ropes, when I flapped a dance ; 

How would I twitch the Pantaloon's good gout. 
And help his fall — and all his fears enhance ! 

How children shrieked to see me eat ! How I 
Stole the broad laugh from aged sober folk ! 

Boys picked their plumbs out of my Christmas pie ; 
And people took my vices for a joke. 

Be wise — (that's foolish) — tumblesome ! be rich — 

And oh, J. S., to every fancy stoop ! 
Carry a ponderous pocket at thy breech, 

And roll thine eye, as thou wouldst roll a hoop. 



342 SUGGESTIONS BY STEAM. 

Hand Columbine about with nimble hand, 
Covet thy neighbors' riches as thy own ; 

Dance on the water, swim upon the land, 

Let thj legs prove themselves bone of my bone. 

Cuff Pantaloon, be sure — forget not this : 

As thou beat'st him, thou'rt poor, J. S,, or funny ! 

And wear a deal of paint upon thy phiz ; 

It doth boys good, and draws in gallery money. 

Lastly, be jolly ! be alive ! be light ! 

Twitch, flirt, and caper, tumble, fall, and throw ! 
Grow up right ugly in thy father's sight ! 

And be an ''absolute Joseph," like old Joe ! 



THE PLEASURES OF A PIC-NIC PARTY. 

If, sick of home and luxuries. 

You want a new sensation. 
And sigh for the unwonted ease 

Of i^^^accommodation — 
If you would taste as amateur, 

And vagabond beginner. 
The painful pleasures of the poor, 

Get up a pic-nic dinner. 

Presto ! — 'tis done 1 — away you start, 
All frolic, fun, and laughter ; 

The servants and prOvision-cart 
As gayly trotting after. 



THE PLEASUKES OF A PIC-NIC PARTY. 343 

The spot is reached — when all exclainij 

With many a joyous antic — 
*' How sweet a scene ! I'm glad we came ! 

How rural ! how romantic P^ 

Half starved with hunger, parched with thirst, 

All haste to spread the dishes, 
When, lo ! 'tis found the ale had burst 

Among the loaves and fishes ! 
Over the pie a sudden hop 

The grasshoppers are skipping ; 
Each roll 's a sponge, each loaf a mop, 

And all the meat is dripping ! 

Bristling with broken glass, you find 

Some cakes among the bottles — 
Which those may eat who do not mind 

Excoriated throttles ! 
The biscuits now are wiped and dried. 

When squalling voices utter — 
'' Look ! look ! a toad has got astride 

Our only pot of butter!" 

Your solids in a liquid state, 

Your cooling liquids heated, 
And every promised joy by fate 

Most fatally defeated. 
All, save the serving-men, are soured ; 

They smirk — the cunning sinners — 
Having, before they came, devoured 

Most comfortable dinners ! 



344 THE PLEASURES OF A PIC-NIC PARTY. 

Still you assume, in very spite, 

A grim and gloomy sadness ; 
Pretend to laugh — affect delight — 

And scorn all show of sadness ! 
While thus you smile, but storm within, 

A storm without comes faster, 
And down descends, in deafening din, 

A deluge of disaster. 

'Tis sauve qui jpeut ! — the fruit dessert 

Is fruitlessly deserted ; 
And homeward now you all revert, 

Dull, desolate, and dirtied ! 
Each gruffly grumbling, as he eyes 

His soaked and sullen brother — 
" If these are pic-nic pleasantries, 

Preserve me from another !" 



¥AIFS AND ESTRAYS. 



NOTE. 

The Little Pigs was first published in the Sunday Morning Courier 
of New York, where it was thus introduced : 

" We are indebted to W. E. Burton, Esq., for the privilege of pub- 
lishing the following original poem by Thomas Hood, the author of 
the Song of the Shirt. It was given to Mr. Burton by the author 
when he was quite young, and has never appeared before in print. 
"We think that no one who reads it, and is familiar with the author's 
style — and who that reads is not ? — will question its genuineness. 
It is a trifle in itself, and of no special value, though there is genuine 
humor in it, and some good puns. But it wiU possess the same 
value in the eyes of an admirer of the author's mature productions, 
that an early picture by Raphael, or a sketch by Hogarth, would in 
the eyes of an artist or a connoisseur." 

The Sailor's Consolation, which is usually ascribed to Charles 
DiBBiN, is attributed to Hood on the authority of that very respect- 
able publication, The Illustrated Boolz of English Songs, a volume of 
the Illustrated London Library. 



WAIFS AND ESTRAYS. 



THE LITTLE PIGS. 



A BOAR Pia said to a lady pig, ^' Oh, pretty piggy, say, 
If your mamma would say but yes, would you, dear miss, 

say nay ? 
My trotter take, and be my bride, or else this pomted fork 
I'll stick into my precious side, and turn myself to pork." 

Miss Piggy then looked very grave, and behind her snout 

blushed she, 
" Oh, gallant, gentle Mr. Pig, pray rise up from your knee, 
My pa, my ma, won't hear of it ; as you go grunting by, 
They'll slam right into your pig's face, the door of our 

pig-sty." 

Young Mr. Pig then bristled up, and says, ^' You must 

allow 
That your father is a hog, and your mother a great sow ; 
But make my prize these lovely eyes, those cheeks so like 

the rose, 
I'll place a ring upon your toe like that that's through your 

nose." 



348 THE LITTLE PIGS. 

"If I yield my melting heart, and quit my father's shed, 
Won't you become as cold and dull as any pig of lead ; 
Not roll me in a vis-a-vis, as folks of fashion do, 
But roll me in a sausage or a pudding black to view?" 

''No, singe my whiskers if I do; I'll love you true, by 

gosh ! 
But see the trembling moonbeams how they play on yon 

hog-wash." 
''Sweet home adieu; dear love, with you I'll quit these 

hated doors, 
And hark, the lark dispels the dark, and how my mammy 

snores." 

Upon her pretty pettitoes, away Miss Pig did flee, 

And ho, ho, ho, went Mr. Pig, and week, week, week, went 

she; 
A look she cast, her tears fell fast, as she her home did spy, 
And so would you, if you had got a stye, ma'am, in your 

eye. 

The old ones waddled after them, but they were not o'er- 

taken. 
For having in their hams more brawn, the young ones 

saved their bacon ; 
To church they went, six virgin pigs strewed chestnuts at 

the door, 
And the parson was, like many of ours, a most enormous 

bore {boar). 



s 



THE sailor's consolation. 349 



THE SAILOR'S CONSOLATION. 

One night came on a hurricane, 

The sea was mountains rolling, 
When Barney Buntline turned his quid, 

And said to Billj Bowling : 
"A strong nor'-wester's blowing, Bill ; 

Hark ! don't you hear it roar now ? 
Lord help 'em, how I pities all 

Unhappy folks on shore now ! 

"Fool-hardy chaps who live in towns, 

What danger they are all in, 
Who now lie quaking in their beds, 

For fear the roof shall fall in : 
Poor creatures, how they envy us. 

And wishes, I've a notion. 
For our good luck, in such a storm, 

To be upon the ocean ! 

"And as for them who're out all day. 

On business from their houses. 
And late at night are coming home 

To cheer their babes and spouses ; 
While you and I, and Bill, or Dick 

Are comfortably lying, 
My eyes ! what tiles and chimney-pot3 

About their heads are flying ! 

"And very often have we heard 
How men are killed and undone, 



350 A PARTHIAN PEEP AT LIFE. 

By overturns of carriages, 

By thieves, and fires in London. 

We know what risks all landsmen run, 
From noblemen to tailors ; 

Then, Bill, let us thank Providence 
That you and I are sailors." 



NOTES. 



NOTES. 



(1.) Ode to IST. Yigoks, Esq. 

From the Comic Annual for 1831. 

(2.) Ode to Joseph Hume. 

Erom the Comic Annual for 1832, at about which time Hume was 
at the summit of his reputation as an economical reformer. He 
has had many imitators, without his talents or sincerity, in public 
bodies, who have labored to bring national faith into discredit by 
repudiating just demands against government, or by voting against 
all payments of money, whether just or unjust. 

(3.) Ode to Spencer Perceval, Esq. 

From the Comic Annual for 1833. Mr. Spencer Perceval made 
himself notorious by a motion in the House of Commons [January 
26, 1832] for presenting an humble address to the King, to order a 
day for a general fast and humiliation, which he supported in the 
most extraordinary speech that has been made in Parliament since 
the days of Praise-Grod Barebones. This speech was made with a 
preliminary flourish, as follows : 

" Mr. Perceval being called on to bring forward the motion of 
which he had given notice, rose, and said — I perceive that strangers 
are in the House. 

" The Speaker : Strangers must withdraw. 

" The officers of the House proceeded to clear the galleries. 

" Mr. Hume : I presume I may move the suspension of the stand- 
ing order. 

'' 77ie Speaker : Strangers must withdraw. 

" The gallery was then cleared, and the House proceeded, with 



854 NOTES. 

closed doors, to take into consideration Mr. Perceval's motion for a 
General Fast." 

The doors being closed, Mr. Perceval delivered idmself of a ha- 
rangue, in which he denounced his brethren in the House as '' infidels 
all" — denounced the " blasphemous proposition to admit the Jew into 
this House" — and predicted the fate of Sodom and Gomorrah upon 
all Christendom. He read copious extracts from the Bible in illustra- 
tion of his views, and described himself as speaking in the name of 
the Lord. 

When he had concluded, Lord Althorp mildly stated that he was 
of the opinion that such discussions did not tend to the honor of 
religion ; and that it was the intention of Government to appoint 
a day of fasting. Thereupon Mr. Perceval withdrew his motion — 
strangers were readmitted — and business proceeded as usual. 

(4.) Ode to Admiral Gambier. 
From the Comic Annual for 1833. 

(5.) Ode to Sir Andrew Agnew. 

From the Comic Annual for 1834. The Athenceum of the day 
said that it was perhaps " the most useful pleasantry in the volume." 
After quoting extracts, it continues — " The foregoing is brave expos- 
tulation. It will do good in every way. It amuses those who seek 
mere amusement, and it pleasantly exposes hypocrisy and cunning. 
If Mr. Hood will persevere in the path which he now appears to be 
treading — viz., the path of the generous, manly, and merry satirist- 
he will do more for the good and happiness of mankind than all the 
preachers in existence." 

Sir Andrew Agnew was the author of a biU entitled " The Lord's 
Day Observance Bill ;" which he described as a bill " to prevent aU 
manner of work on the Lord's clay." It enacted, among other things, 
that any one who should be present at any meeting, assembly, or 
concourse of people, for any " pastime of public indecorum, inconve- 
nience, or nuisance, or for public debating upon or discussing any 
subject, or for public lecture, address, or speech, or who shall be pres- 
ent at any news-room or club-room, shall forfeit for the first offence 
any sum not less than 5s., nor more than 10s. ; for the second offence 
not less than 10s., nor more than 20s. ; and for every subsequent of- 
fence, not less than 20s., nor more than ^£5." 



NOTES. 355 

Mr. Roebuck opposed the bill on the ground that it interrupted all 
the common conveniences of life on a Sunday, and "interdicted all 
social intercourse of human beings." " He had gone last Sunday to 
Greenwich, on purpose to see how the population of the metropolis 
amused themselves on that day. Nothing could be a more pleasing 
sight, or more consonant to every good feeling. The people came 
out for air ; they were walking quietly in the Park ; enjoying the 
pure atmosphere, breaking no commandment, and violatmg no law. 
He could oppose the honorable baronet on reHgious grounds, and tell 
him that true rehgion was not so cold and narrow a system as he 
represented it to be. The Almighty required that we should perform 
our duties to one another without one particle of asceticism. By 
this bill, one set of people, having peculiar ideas respecting a particu- 
lar day, wished to compel all other persons to conform to their creed, 
and to worship God after their manner." 

The bill was thrown out in the House of Commons on its second 
reading [May 16, 1833]. 

(6.) Ode to J". S. Buckingham, Esq. 
From the Comic Annual for 1835. The London Literary Gazette 
says of it : "A rather long, irregular poem on the Report of the 
Temperance Committee satirically exposes a number of absurdities 
in that precious document : it is in Hood's best style, and with quite 
as much reason as rhyme, as much pungency as punning." The co- 
pious foot-notes render any additional comment unnecessary. 

(7.) Ode to Messrs. Green, Hollond, and Monck Mason. 

From the Comic Annual for 1837. 

The extraordinary Balloon Expedition here chronicled took place 
in November, 1836. It originated with Mr. Hollond. The balloon 
belonged to the proprietors of Yauxhall Gardens, and was under the 
command of Mr. Green, who had lono' entertained a desire to make 
a voyage from London to the continent, but had never before pos- 
sessed a balloon of sufficient size, nor met % gentleman willing to 
freight his vessel. The proprietors of the balloon proposed that Mr. 
Monck Mason should be of the party, to which Messrs. Green and 
Hollond readily assented. 

The voyagers took with them an apparatus to ballast and anchor 
their balloon, a compass, a sextant, charts, a chronometer, an excel- 
lent day and night telescope, a speaking trumpet, a ship's lamp, and 



356 NOTES. 

some lights whicli were intended to assist them in ascertaining the 
country over which they might pass at niglit. Mr. Frederic Gye also 
constructed for them a very simple and useful Httle machine to indi- 
cate at night whether the balloon was rising or sinking, with more 
nicety than the barometer. Passports were provided to the different 
countries of Europe in which the voyagers would be likely to descend, 
with provisions for a fortnight, and abundance of warm clothing. 

The adventurous aeronauts entered the car at about half-past one 
o'clock on the 7th of JSTovember. There was a favorable wind and 
fine weather. The balloon, taking a south-easterly direction, crossed 
the Medway at about three o'clock, was nearly over Canterbury at 
four, and, at twelve minutes before five, left England about one mile 
east of Dover Castle. In about an hour more, it was over France, 
about two miles east of Calais. From twenty minutes after nine to 
half-past eleven, it passed over several large lighted towns, at an alti- 
tude of from one to two miles. At half-past eleven, over a populous 
district lighted with numerous furnaces, supposed to be the neighbor- 
hood of Namour and Liege. At midnight, very dark — the earth 
hidden by an unbroken mass of cloud — the stars bright above. At 
five o'clock there was a slight appearance of daybreak, which became 
magnificent at about a quarter past six. The balloon descended that 
morning at half-past seven, near Weilburg, in the Duchy of Nassau. 
Mr. Hollond wrote : — " We have had a delightful excursion, and 
have been most hospitably received, the whole town being delighted 
with our having descended here. They have lent us the military 
riding-school for the balloon. It is singular enough that Blanchard 
descended here about fifty years ago, when he ascended from Frank- 
fort." The inhabitants of Weilburg would not believe that the aero- 
nauts had left London the afternoon previous, until they produced 
the London newspapers of that day. 

(8.) Eemonstratory Ode 
From the Elephant to Mr. Mathews. 
Originally pubhshed in the London Magazine^ and afterward in the 
Whims and Oddities. The author was John Hamilton Eeynolds, 
to whom we have had occasion to allude in the preface to our second 
volume of Hood's Poetical WorJis. He published at a very early age 
poetry which received the approbation of Lord Byron. He next be- 
came dramatic critic for the Champion newspaper, and one of the 



NOTES. 357 

contributors to the London Magazine. For this journal he wrote 
"Edward Herbert's Letters to his Eansfolk;" and, among numerous 
other articles, a '' Pen and Ink Sketch of the Trial of Thurtell, the 
Murderer ;" and an admirable notice of John Kemble. Among such 
writers as Charles Lamb, Tahburd, Hood, Hazlitt, Allan Cunningham, 
Proctor, and Aytoun, Eetnolds ranked as a man, not merely of 
cleverness, but of genius. In habits of constant intercourse with 
these men, a writer in the London Examiner says, that he " carried 
among them one of the finest natures it has been my chance to meet 
with in this working-day world. With splendid dark eyes, a mobile 
and intelligent countenance, Ut up by never-failing good humor, and 
a quiet, bland, but somewhat arch smile, he was goodly to look at as 
well as to hsten to. Every body's dear Tom Hood married one of 
his sisters, an amiable lady, worthy of both her husband and her 
brother. The last time but one that I saw Reynolds, we stood on a 
knoU upon Wood Green, contemplating a splendid sunset, and, with 
a sort of rivalry that was common with us, repeating from memory 
ColKns's beautiful Ode to Evening. That is many, many years ago ; 
but as it reminds me ' how pleasant was my friend,' it is the impres- 
sion I wiU cherish of him." 

In his Reminiscences^ Hood alludes to Reynolds as the person who 
made the runaway ring at "Wordsworth's Peter Bell. The allusion 
was to a poem under this title that preceded the pubhcation of the 
genuine Peter Bell, and which was wonderfully rehshed by the wits 
of the metropolis. Reynolds was a contributor to the Edinlurgh 
Review, the Retrospective, and afterwards to the Westminster. 

In the latter part of his life, he was clerk of the County Court of 
Hampshire, in the Isle of Wight, where he died, ISTovember 15, 1852. 

(9.) Address to Mr. Cross, of Exeter 'Change, 
On the Death of the Elephant. 
March 1, 1826. The stupendous elephant at the Exeter 'Change 
was killed by order of the proprietor, in consequence of its having 
exhibited symptoms of madness. At half-past four o'clock, his vio- 
lent exertions to break the huge door and bars of his den, in which 
he partly succeeded, made the necessity of this measure apparent. 
The proprietor sent to Somerset House for some of the Guards sta- 
tioned there ; and, on their arrival, they commenced firing at the 
animal, and continued firing an hour before he fell, pierced with a 



358 NOTES. 

hundred and eighty musket-balls. The fatal shot entered under the 
ear. A few days afterwards he was dissected. It required twelve 
men to skin him, and the carcass was conveyed to a horse-slaughter- 
er's, in Sharp's Alley, Cow Cross, and served out to the different 
purveyors of cats'-meat. The proprietor offered the body to the 
College of Surgeons, but they dechned it, for the want of room ; and 
the skeleton was offered to the British Museum, but the directors 
had no power to treat for it. The skin was sold to a private individ- 
ual for £50. 

(10.) Ode to the Late Lord Mayor. 
If the work which called forth this Ode had been written for the 
express purpose of bringing municipal great men and local histories 
into ridicule, it could not have been more successful than in the hon- 
est purpose it manifests of chronicling events important in the eyes 
of the Lord Mayor and his chaplain. The volume is entitled — " The 
Lord Mayor's Yisit to Oxford, in the month of July, 1826. Written 
at the desire of the party, by the Chaplain to the Mayoralty. 8vo. 
London : Longman & Co. 1826." 

(11.) The Blue Boar. 

Though written for the year 1837, this political j'eu cfesprit is 
equally apropos in 1857- The Jew Bill, introduced by Lord Palmer- 
ston in the House of Commons this year, admitted the Jew to Par- 
liament without any restriction ; so that a Jew might not only enjoy 
the highest temporal honors of the realm, but become the Keeper of 
the Queen's Conscience, and appoint Christian bishops and other 
ministers of the Church. After a grand gladiatorial rencontre on the 
bill in the House of Lords, it was thrown out. 

Answer to Pauper. 

This very clever satire was called forth by the following verses ; 
by whom written we cannot say. We first met with them in a 
number of the London Athenoeum^ where they were followed a 
week or two after by the answer in the text. This is assigned to 
Hood on the authority of an article in the Westminster Review, which 
says the poem to which it is responsive is from the pen of an emi- 
nent writer. We should have suspected that Hood was the author 
of the Reply as well as of the Answer, but we have nothing to con- 
firm the suspicion. 



NOTES. 859 

Reply to a Pastoral Poet. 

Tell us not of bygone days ! 

Tell us not of forward times ! 
What's the future — what's the past — 

Save to fashion rhymes ? 
Show us that the corn doth thrive ! 

Show us there's no winter weather ! 
Show us we may laugh and live — 

(Those who love — together.) 

Senses have we for sweet blossoms — 

Eyes, which could admire the sun- — 
Passions, blazing in our bosoms — 

Hearts, that may be won ! 
But Labor doth forever press us, 

And Famine grins upon our board ; 
And none will help us, none will bless us, 

With one gentle word ! 

None, none ! our birthright, or our fate, 

Is hunger and inclement air — 
Perpetual toil — the rich man's hate — 

Want, scorn — the pauper's fare : 
We fain would gaze upon the sky, 

Lie pensive by the running springs ; 
But if we stay to gaze or sigh. 

We starve — though the cuckoo sings f 

The moon casts cold on us below ; 

The sun is not our own ; 
The very winds which fragrance blow, 

But blanch us to the bone ; 
The rose for us ne'er shows its bloom, 

The violet its blue eye ; 
From cradle murmuring to the tomb. 

We feel no beauty, no perfume. 
But only toil — and die ! Pauper. 

THE END. 



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